The girl's first proud impulse was to turn coldly away and leave him. But some strange tumult in her heart kept her still. What had he come to say?
There was a moment's fateful silence. Then Spencer spoke in a muffled voice.
"I couldn't go away without seeing you once more, Estella, to say good-bye. Perhaps you won't speak to me. You must hate me. I deserve it."
He paused, but she said no word. She could not. After a space, he went wistfully on.
"I know you can never forgive me—no girl could. I've behaved like a fool. There isn't any excuse to be made for me. I don't think I could have been in my right senses, Estella. It all seems like some bad dream now. When I saw her that night, I came to my right mind, and I've been the most miserable man alive ever since. Not for her—but because I'd lost you. I can't bear to live here any longer, so I am going away. Will you say good-bye, Estella?"
Still she did not speak. There were a hundred things she wanted to say but she could not say them. Did he mean that he loved her still? If she were sure of that, she could forgive him anything, but her doubt rendered her mute.
The young man turned away despairingly from her rigid attitude. So be it—he had brought his fate on himself.
He had gone but a few steps when Estella suddenly found her voice with a gasp.
"Spencer!" He came swiftly back. "Oh, Spencer—do—you—do you love me still?"
He caught her hands in his.