Rosmer.
Tell me more of this. Tell me all you can.
Rebecca.
There is not much more, dear. Only this—it was love that was born in me. The great self-denying love, that is content with life, as we two have lived it together.
Rosmer.
Oh, if I had only had the faintest suspicion of all this!
Rebecca.
It is best as it is. Yesterday—when you asked me if I would be your wife—I cried out with joy——
Rosmer.
Yes, did you not, Rebecca! I thought that was the meaning of your cry.