"My darling," he said slowly, "do you realize the full measure of what you have done for me? Do you know that you not only have given me life, but have saved me from that which to a soldier is more terrible than the torments of hell itself,—the disgrace of being hanged as a spy?"
His voice broke, and a spasm of pain shot across his face. Then he exclaimed in a tone filled with self-condemnation, "And this you have done for the man who forced his love upon you,—who married you by a trick—aye, by violence; the man who—"
She drew one hand away from his grasp and put it firmly against his lips.
"Stop!" she commanded, with all her natural imperiousness. "I'll listen to no more talk such as that. Had you not married me in the way you did, 't is not likely you would have wed me at all, for I have come to know that I am no girl to be won by soft speeches, and sighs, and tears."
"What!" he cried, not believing his ears. "Can it be possible—"
He had no need to finish the question, for her arms stole up and went around his neck, and her blushing face was hidden over his heart.
"My love—my wife—can it be that you love me at last?"
"At last!" She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "I believe I have loved you from the very first—since the time you opened your eyes when I held your head that day on the rocks. I loved you when you kissed me, the time we met in the wood, and I loved you when we stood before Parson Weeks; and—I'll love you all my life."
He drew her to him with a force almost rough in its fierceness, and covered her face with kisses.
"God be praised for those words!" he exclaimed. Then he sighed deeply.