“‘That you let it be “just this once!”’
“‘Kate, do you love me?’
“‘Oh, you are cruel!’ she cried, with passionate emphasis, slipping her hand from my arm and facing me with glowing looks. ‘I wish I could say I hate you! You are a man of the world, and I a poor girl from a convent, who know nothing. I am trying to do right, and you oppose me—you make it hard and bitter to me. If you loved me as I—as I would love if I were a man, you would not press me so. I tell you, it must not be!’
“‘What is, shall be, Kate! Dear Kate, we love each other; and who in the world shall prevent it, or forbid our being married?’
“‘Hush! hush!’ She came a step nearer to me, and caught my sleeve with her little hand, as a timorous child might do; glancing nervously over her shoulder as if something fearful were hidden amongst the trees. ‘Did you hear nothing?’ she whispered. ‘Did not someone call me?’
“‘Only I have called you, dear. I called you “Kate;” and I want to call you “wife!”’
“She continued to stand motionless, with that frightened listening expression still on her face; and yet my words had apparently passed unheard. What was it, then, that her ears were strained to catch? To my sense, the forest was full of shadowy stillness, tempered only by a faint whispering of leaves, and now and then a bird-note high overhead.
“Gradually the strange preoccupation left her. Her breathing, which had been irregular and laboured, now came evenly and gently once more. She glanced sidelong at me for a moment; then, with a swift tender movement she came yet a trifle closer, and laid her other hand upon my arm.
“‘Tom—Tom dear! I will say it, for we shall be parted soon, and then, if I am alive, I shall be comforted a little to think that I did say it! Listen—Tom dear, I love you! Never forget that I said it—Tom, I love you!’