Her face was full of sympathy, and my heart rejoiced because she did not seem to think it strange that I should come to her.
"And will you have to go soon?"
"I must go now," I replied, and then my sorrow and despair, at the thought, dragged my confession from my tongue.
"But before I go," I said, "I must tell you that I love you, Naomi Penryn. It is madness, I know; but I loved you when I was in the pillory at Falmouth, and I have loved you ever since, and my love has been growing stronger each day. That is why I have come here, to-night. My heart is hungry for you, and my eyes have been aching for a sight of your face, and I felt I could not go away without telling you, even though I shall never see you again."
Her face seemed to grow paler than ever as I spoke, but her eyes grew soft.
"I know I am wrong, I ought not to have come in this way," I went on, for my tongue was unloosed now, "but I could not help it; and I am glad I have come, for your eyes will nerve me, and the thought that you do not scorn me will be a help to me in the unknown paths which I have to tread. For you do not scorn me, do you?"
"Scorn you?" she asked. "Why should I scorn you?"
And then a great hope came into my heart, greater than I had ever dared to dream of before, the hope that she might care for me! Wild I know it was, but my own love filled me with the hope. If I loved her, might she not, even although I were unworthy, love me? Yet I dared not ask her if it was so; only I longed with a longing which cannot be uttered that she should tell me, by word or look.
"And must you go soon, go now to Falmouth?" she said like one dazed.
"Yes; I must e'en go now," I said. "It is like heaven to be near you, better than any heaven preached about by parsons, but I must go. Can you give me no word of encouragement before I leave?"