“Oh, stop—stop!” cried Jane, hoarsely. “Don’t leave me like that. What do you want me to do?”
“Oh, nothing—nothing, only to say goodbye, Jane. I did think that I should have liked to hold you in my arms for a moment, and have one parting kiss. I seemed to fancy it would make me a stronger and a better man, so that I could go and fight my way again in a foreign world, and make myself fit to come back and ask you to be my wife.”
“But John, dear John, don’t ask me,” sobbed Jane. “How can I?”
“No—no,” he said, sadly; “you can’t. Don’t do anything of the sort. I only thought you might have come down and let me in through the billiard-room. But don’t do it, Jane; you might get into trouble about it, and one of us is enough to be in that way. Bless you, Jane! Think of me sometimes when I’m far away.”
Jane did not answer, but with the sobs tearing one after the other from her breast, she stood, listening and thinking. It was too hard upon her; she felt that she could not bear it. How, with all his faults, he still loved her, and should she—could she turn her back upon him when he was in such trouble? There was a hot burning flush, too, in her cheeks as she leaned, with beating heart, further from the window, determined to risk all for his sake.
“John!—John!” she whispered, “Don’t go yet; I’ll do what you want.”
No answer.
“Oh, John!—John! Pray don’t leave me like that. I’ll come down just for a few moments to say good-bye.”
Still no answer, only a faint rustle amongst the bushes.
Had he then gone?—left her while she was silent for those few minutes, thinking her to be hard, and cruel, and indifferent? or did he hope that she would repent, and had he gone round to the glass door by the billiard-room lobby?