THE SECOND VOICE. How if at some future day, her eyes be opened to see your love for the petty, selfish thing it is?
THE FIRST VOICE. She will be my wife!
THE SECOND VOICE. So God pity her.
THE FIRST VOICE. Come what will, she shall not leave me! I cannot, will not part with her!
"Why, Peregrine!" exclaimed a sweet voice. "My dear—my dear, what is it? Why do you sit here sighing with your dear head between your hands—this head that I love so! Peregrine dear, what is it?"
She was beside me on her knees, had drawn my face upon her bosom, and I thrilled to the soft caress of her mouth and the touch of her gentle fingers in my hair. "Why are you so troubled, my Peregrine?"
"O Diana! Beloved, I imagined a foolish thing—that being far from me you forgot our love—these dear Silent Places, and learned—to love—some one more worthy—more generous—altogether better than I. For Diana—I am—"
"My Peregrine!" she whispered passionately. "My brave lover that is so fine a gentleman he don't know anything of evil and has treated me always as if I was a proud lady—as if I was a very holy thing instead of only a gipsy girl to be kissed and—and—oh, you are so different—and so it is I love you—love you, worship you, and—all'us shall, my Peregrine, and long and yearn to be a lady for your sake and worthy of you—"
"O child," I whispered, "my Diana—hush! You don't know how vilely, basely selfish I am really—"
"Never—ah, never say so, Peregrine, it hurts me. There now, smile! I wouldn't ha' left you all the afternoon—not even wi' our pal—no, not even to try on my wedding gown if I'd thought you'd ha' grieved. Come, dear, Jessamy's back an' ready for you with the muffles—there, he be calling!"