He repeated the simple words as if laying his whole self—body, soul and spirit, at her feet.
And the woman, in very wonder at the fullness of the offering, was as one transfixed and could find no word fit to express her acceptance of the gift.
"It is my right to tell you this," he said proudly—defiantly almost, as though challenging some unseen spirit or power. "And it is your right to answer me."
"Yes," she said, "it is our right."
"Then you do care for me, Hope? I am not mistaken—you do?"
"Can you doubt it?" she asked.
He moved quickly toward her but she checked him, and while the love in her eyes answered to the mastering passion in his, she seemed in some subtle manner to build up a protecting wall between them, a wall to guard them both.
"I do not understand," he faltered.
"You must think," she bade him quietly, firmly. "Don't you see that, while it is right for you to tell me what you have, and right for me to tell you how proud—how glad your words have made me, and how with all my heart and life I—I—love you, this—," her voice faltered now, "don't you see that this must be all?"
"All?" he questioned.