It was when I met Ned that my heart awoke.
I knew that he was Milly's betrothed and I had not thought of thus repaying Aunt's kindness. Her kindness! Kind as a stone.
But it wasn't Ned's fault. He couldn't help himself. If he could have left me alone! If he could only have gone away!
I suppose he tried to control himself, but his eyes glowed when he looked on me; and I, thinking I knew what love was, because I was affianced, did not see—did not know what the wild joy meant that his look woke in my heart.
To keep faith with John and Milly, should I have shunned him? But there was nothing to warn me; he never spoke of love; I never thought of it. If he had spoken earlier, I might have known what to do. It might have been the danger signal. Why could he not have kept away? Why did he not speak a word of love until it was too late—until—ah, I was so happy!
But he does love me. There's truer speech than that of words, and his lips—that kissed me, but said he did not love—have told two stories. I know which to believe!
And Milly knows. She is too wise to contend with Me.
I shall never know what brought Ned to the house—three weeks ago, but I haven't dared to write of it—I shall never know what happened before I saw him.
I ran into the library with a song bubbling to my lips—for I was thinking of him—and the gladness of it was in my eyes when I found him there. He started and turned to me a face of confusion—yes, and of worship. He fumbled with a book on the table, and glanced toward the door as if he would have left me. I saw that, but I didn't think—there was no time to think, but I must have felt that a crisis had come that would decide our lives. All the fear, all the sweet shame that I had felt before him vanished. My heart beat wildly for happiness, but I was calm.
At last we were alone together!