"Nellie! Nellie!" he cried. "What have I done! Forgive me! I did not mean to hurt you! I thought you would understand. If you only knew how I love you--if you only----"
"I know it, Stephen--I know it. I am very foolish. Please forgive me. I cannot explain these tears--they come unbidden."
"Then you're not unhappy, Nellie? You are not cross with me?"
"Cross, dear Stephen, no. I am so happy, very happy. But why should I be happy when my father is in trouble? How dare I! Is it right?"
"Then you love me, Nellie! Oh, speak the word--let me hear it from your own lips!"
"Yes, Stephen, I do love you, don't you know it? I am yours, your very own."
"Thank God! thank God!" he cried, drawing her closer to him, and kissing her again and again. She did not resist now, but allowed him to hold her there while he breathed into her ear his sweet words of love. They were no studied, well-rounded phrases, but such as leaped from a true, noble heart, and the woman listening knew their worth.
"Why didn't you write to me, Stephen?" Nellie whispered, "and tell me you were coming? I have been worried lately, and it would have been something to look forward to."
"I didn't know I was coming until this morning," came the reply.
"Didn't know?"