“Then you mean that you think that I should have fallen in love with any gentleman who had come here?”
Arthur, not seeing the slight flash of indignation in her eyes, replied,
“Well, you know, there is always a risk, but I should imagine that it would very much depend upon the gentleman.”
“Arthur”—with a little stamp—“I am ashamed of you. How can you think such things of me? You must have a very poor opinion of me.”
“My dear, why should I suppose myself superior to anybody else, that you should only fall in love with me? You set too high a value on me.”
“And you set too low a value on me; you do not understand me. You are my fate, my other self; how would it have been possible for me to love any one but you? I feel as though I had been travelling to meet you since the beginning of the world, to stand by your side till it crumbles away, yes, for eternity itself. Oh! Arthur, do not laugh at what I say. I am, indeed, only a simple girl, but, as I told you last night, there is something stirring in me now, my real life, my eternal part, something that you have awakened, and with which you have to deal, something apart from the me you see before you. As I speak, I feel and know that when we are dead and gone, I shall love you still; when more ages have passed than there are leaves upon that tree, I shall love you still. Arthur, I am yours for ever, for the time that is, and is to be.”
She spoke with the grand freedom of one inspired, nay, he felt that she was inspired, and the same feeling of awe that had come upon him when he first saw her face, again took possession of him. Taking her hand, he kissed it.
“Dearest,” he said, “dearest Angela, who am I that you should love me so? What have I done that such a treasure should be given to me? I hope that it may be as you say!”
“It will be as I say,” she answered, as she bent to kiss him. And they went on in silence.