From her beautiful face every speck of colour had vanished by this time; her bosom heaved tumultuously under the intensity of her emotion. No word, however, passed her lips. I still held her hand in mine, and it gave me courage to continue when I saw that she did not attempt to withdraw it.
"Have you no answer for me?" I inquired, after the long pause which had followed my last speech. "I have told you that I love you. If it is not enough I will do so again. What better place could be found for such a confession than this beautiful old church, which has seen so many lovers and has held the secrets of so many lives. Valerie, I believe I have loved you since the afternoon I first saw you. But since I have known you and have learnt your goodness that love has become doubly strong."
"I can not hear you," she cried, almost with a sob, "indeed, I can not. You do not know what you are saving. You have no idea of the pain you are causing me."
"God knows I would not give you pain for anything," I answered. "But now you must hear me. Why should you not? You are a good woman, and I am, I trust, an honest man. Why, therefore, should I not love you? Tell me that."
"Because it is madness," she answered in despair. "Situated as we are we should be the last to think of such a thing. Oh, Mr. Forrester, if only you had taken my advice, and had gone away from Naples when I implored you to do so, this would not have happened."
"If I have anything to be thankful for it is that," I replied fervently. "I told you then that I would not leave you. Nor shall I ever do so until I know that your life is safe. Come, Valerie, you have heard my confession, will you not be equally candid with me. You have always proved yourself my friend. Is it possible you have nothing more than friendship to offer me?"
I knew the woman I was dealing with. Her beautiful, straightforward nature was incapable of dissimulation.
"Mr. Forrester, even if what you hope is impossible, it would be unfair on my part to deceive you," she said. "I love you, as you are worthy to be loved, but having said that I can say no more. You must go away and endeavour to forget that you ever saw so unhappy a person as myself."
"Never," I answered, and then dropping on one knee and pressing her hand to my lips, I continued: "You have confessed, Valerie, that you love me, and nothing can ever separate us now. Come what may, I will not leave you. Here, in this old church, by the cross on yonder altar, I swear it. As we are together in trouble, so will we be together in love, and may God's blessing rest upon us both."
"Amen," she answered solemnly.