The promise that she was about to ask was that he would not marry Dorothy, but her better nature rose in rebellion against it. Then they talked awhile of Ernest’s life abroad.
“Well,” said Ernest, rising after a pause, “good-bye, Eva.”
“It is a very cruel word,” she murmured.
“Yes, it is cruel, but not more cruel than the rest.”
“It has been a happiness to see you, Ernest.”
He shrugged his shoulders as he answered. “Has it? For myself I am not sure if it has been a happiness or a misery. I must have a year or two of quiet and darkness to think it over before I make up my mind. Will you kindly ring the bell for the servant to take me away?”
Half unconsciously she obeyed him, and then she came and took his hand and looked with all her eyes and all her soul into his face. It was fortunate that he could not see her.
“O Ernest, you are blind!” she said, scarcely knowing what she said.
He laughed—a hard little laugh. “Yes, Eva, I am as blind now as you have been always.”
“Ernest! Ernest! how can I live without seeing you? I love you!” and she fell into his arms.