“Min!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, Frank!”—she said, coming forwards eagerly—“and could you have the heart to go away without my seeing you again?”
I drew back.
“Min,”—said I,—“do not come near me! You do not know what has occurred; how I have sinned; how unworthy I am even to speak to you!”
She would not be denied, however. She came nearer me, and took my hand. “But, you have repented, Frank,”—she said—“have you not?”
“Oh, my darling!”—I said,—“I have repented; but that will not bring back the past. I can never hope to be forgiven, I know. I ought not to speak to you even!”
“Ah, Frank!”—she replied, looking up into my face with her dear grey eyes, which I had thought I would never look upon again.—“Don’t you remember that sermon the vicar preached last year, when we were in church together? and, don’t you remember the words of his text, how assuring they ought to be to us?—‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool!’”
We were both silent.
Presently, as we sat side by side, Min spoke to me again.
“You will not forget me, Frank, will you?” she asked.