The words fell clearly on the still, summer air.
“Yes”—doggedly—“I love you. What then?”
“What then? Why—this! I don't care what you've done. It doesn't matter to me whether you are an outcast or not. If you are, then I'm willing to be an outcast with you. Oh, Garth—My Garth! I've been begging you to marry me all afternoon, and—and——” with a broken little laugh—“you can't keep on refusing me!”
Before her passionate faith and trust the barriers he had raised between them came crashing down. His arms went round her, and for a few moments they clung together and love wiped out all bitter memories of the past and all the menace of the future.
But presently he came back to his senses. Very gently he put her from him.
“It's not right,” he stammered unsteadily. “I can't accept this from you. Dear, you must let me go away. . . . I can't spoil your beautiful life by joining it to mine!”
She drew his arm about her shoulders again.
“You will spoil it if you go away. Oh! Garth, you dear, foolish man! When will you understand that love is the only thing that matters? If you had committed all the sins in the Decalogue, I shouldn't care! You're mine now”—jealously—“my lover. And I'm not going to be thrust out of your life for some stupid scruple. Let the past take care of itself. The present is ours. And—and I love you, Garth!”
It was difficult to reason coolly with her arms about him, her lips so near his own, and his great love for her pulling at his heart. But he made one further effort.
“If you should ever regret it, Sara?” he whispered. “I don't think I could bear that.”