The words burst from her lips as if she had no power to control them. Her soul spoke, her heart spoke; it was an absolute avowal. But conscience, her sense of right and duty, her high thought for him and for herself spoke also.
"No, no! It is dishonourable, you are vowed!"
He held her fast, the strong male impulse dominated her, she was sick to death with surrender.
"But you love me, Mary?"
"Yes!—oh, what am I saying? God help me!—go, for you are a gentleman, and must preserve our hearts unstained!"
"Darling!" he cried, "God is with us. I break no troth! All that is over and done—I am free, I am yours."
He had her little hands in his, tight, close—ah, close!
Swift, passionate words come from his lips, fierce loving words caught up in sobs, broken with the hot tears of happiness in that he is so blessed and she so dear!
Her face, in its supreme loveliness, its tenderness, its joy, is turned full to his now.
The river of his speech rushes down upon her heart, surging over her. His words catch her up upon their flood, her will seems to her merged in his, she swoons with love.