She did not say a word to this, but looked straight on. We were passing through rich loamy lands. All around the trees were in the glory of their summer garb, while the birds sang lustily from tree branch, and from hazel twig, but I do not think she either saw or heard.
I had eased my heart in speaking, and so I said no more for the time. Never perhaps had a man a more doubtful future than I, and yet I could have shouted for very joy. She heard not the song of the skylark as it mounted to the heavens, nor the notes of the thrushes as they poured forth their music to God. But I did, and it seemed to me as though they were God's messengers telling me not to be afraid to love, for it was His will. That she could ever love me never came into my heart. How could she? What was I that a maid so peerless in her beauty, so glorious in her life of sacrifice for another, should ever think of me save as one who delighted to do her will? But I had the joy of loving, and although my love were full of pain, and unsatisfied yearnings, I still loved, and rejoiced in it.
"Why? Why?" I heard her whisper presently.
"Because God would have it so," I made answer. "He brought us together that I might love you, and serve you. And this I will do as long as I have life and thought!"
"But if I am thrown into prison?"
"I shall still love you. Prison is nothing. Love has broken the bolts from many a prison door before this, aye, and will again."
"But what is the use of loving me?"
"To serve you."
"But if you cannot serve me?"
"Then I shall still have the joy of loving you. This let me say: what will happen I know not, but you must not be afraid. I shall be always thinking about you—always."