"Can you ever forgive me?"
"That depends, Dick."
"On what?"
Lisbeth stooped, and picking up her hat, began to put it on.
"Depends on what?" I repeated.
Her hat was on now, but for a while she did not answer, her eyes upon the "fairy path." When at last she spoke her voice was very low and tender.
"'Not far from the village of Down, in Kent, there is a house,'" she began, "'a very old house, with pointed gables and pannelled chambers, but empty to-night and desolate.' You see I remember it all," she broke off.
"Yes, you remember it all," I repeated, wondering.
"Dick—I—I want you to—take me there. I've thought of it all so often. Take me there, Dick."
"Lisbeth, do you mean it?"