Rose gave a startled glance towards the porch where they were all sitting so quietly.
“It was to bring us news of Will, wasn’t it? And to see Merleville?” said she.
Did she say it? Or had she only thought of it? She was not sure, a minute after, for Mr Millar went on as if he had heard nothing.
“I came to ask you to be my wife.”
Did this take her by surprise? or had she been expecting it all the time? She did not know. She was not sure; but she stood before him with downcast eyes, without a word.
“You know I have loved you always—since the night that Harry took me home with him. My fancy has never wandered from you, all these years. Rose, you must know I love you, dearly. I have only that to plead. I know I am not worthy of you, except for the love I bear you.”
He had begun quietly, as one begins a work which needs preparation, and strength, and courage, but his last words came between pauses, broken and hurriedly, and he repeated,—
“I know I am not worthy.”
“Oh! Charlie, don’t say such foolish words to me.” And Rose gave him a single glimpse of her face. It was only a glimpse, but his heart gave a great leap in his breast, and the hand that lay on the gate which separated them trembled, though Rose did not look up to see it.
“Rosie,” he whispered, “come down to the brook and show me Harry’s waterfall.”