How long was it? Neither of them knew, before Geoffrey said quietly the one word,—
“Rhoda!”
She looked up at him again, and then stood hesitating, for the thoughts of the petty scandal she had heard flashed before her; but she shook them off as if they had been venomous, and, looking him full in the face, she placed her hand in his with an air of such implicit faith as stirred him into speech.
“I did not know this—I did not think this,” he said hoarsely; “and I feel as if I were acting the part of a treacherous villain to the man who has given me his confidence and trust.”
“And why?” she said.
“Because I know that I love you,” he said; “love you with all my heart. Rhoda, I must leave here. I ought not to have spoken as I did.”
She looked up at him timidly, with a half-flinching fear in her face as she met his eyes, but it turned to a look of pride, and she laid another hand upon his arm.
“No,” she said, “you must stay. Geoffrey, I could not bear it if you were to go.”
He must have been more than man if he had not clasped her to his breast at that, and in that embrace he felt her head rest upon his shoulder, and knew that fate had been very kind to him, and that he had won the love of a woman who would be part and parcel of his future life.
“And I had laughed at love,” he said, little thinking that there were witnesses of what was passing; “but now I know. Rhoda! Oh, my love!”