"And in my defence," she sobbed. "Oh, papa, it makes my heart ache to think how he has suffered because of risking his life in the effort to save mine."
"Yes; I am very grateful to him—so grateful that I feel I can refuse him nothing that he may ask of me—even though it should be the the hand of my dear eldest daughter."
She gave him a look of surprise, while her cheek grew hot with blushes.
"You know that he wants it—that he loves you. He made it very plain as we stood by him in the road soon after he fell."
"Yes, sir; and I have thought of it very often since. It surprised me very much, for I had never thought of him as a lover."
"And how is it now?" asked her father, as she paused; "do you care for him at all? can you give him any return of affection?"
"Papa," she said, hiding her blushing face on his shoulder, and speaking in so low a tone that he scarcely caught the words, "I seem to have learned to love him since knowing of his love to me and that he had almost, if not quite, thrown away his own life to save mine. But you are not willing that he should tell his love?—not willing to give me to him, however much he may desire it?"
"I am too grateful to him to refuse him anything he may ask for—even to the daughter who is so dear to me that I can scarcely bear the thought of resigning her to another."
"Oh, father, how could I ever endure to be parted from you!" she cried, clinging more closely to him.
"Dear child," he said, holding her close; "we will make it a condition that you shall not be taken away to any distance. And, in any event, you are still too young to leave your father; you must remain single and live with me for at least a year or two longer."