"Can we give those things which are—already—given?"
Only Warburton and the angels, or rather the angels and Warburton, to get at the chronological order of things, heard her, so low had grown her voice.
You may tell any kind of secret to a horse; the animal will never betray you. Warburton would never tell me what followed; and I am too sensible to hang around the horses in hopes of catching them in the act of talking over the affair among themselves. But I can easily imagine this bit of equine dialogue:
Jane: Did you ever see such foolishness?
Dick: Never! And with all this good grass about!
Whatever did follow caused the girl to murmur: "This is the lover I love; this is the lover I have been waiting for in my castle of romance. I am glad that I have lost all worldly things; I am glad, glad! When did you first learn that you loved me?"
(Old, very old; thousands of years old, and will grow to be many thousand years older. But from woman's lips it is the sweetest question man ever heard.)
"At the Gare du Nord, in Paris; the first time I saw you."
"And you followed me across the ocean?"—wonderingly.
"And when did you first learn that you loved me?" he asked.