“Have you nothing to say to me, Godfrey? You have scarcely spoken to me since the accident.”
“What shall I say to you, Allie?” Godfrey asked, not unkindly; and then Alice’s tears fell in torrents as she burst out, impetuously:
“Oh, Godfrey, say you do not mind what I said to you on the river-bank. I was angry, jealous, furious, because you put me away to save another, and kissed her before my eyes, and called her your darling. I think I must have been crazed to say what I did, and throw my engagement ring away. But I have it again. I took it from her hand and put it back on mine. See, it is here; look, Godfrey, and tell me it is just as it was with us.”
To say that Godfrey was unmoved by this appeal would be wrong, for though he had never loved Alice, he did not dislike her, and would gladly have spared her pain could he have done so without compromising himself again: but he could not; he must be frank with her now, and settle their relations to each other at once and forever, and he said to her: “But, Allie, it is not with us as it was, and it never can be again. I do not wish to hurt you unnecessarily, and I mean to be as gentle and kind as I’d want a great brute of a fellow to be with my sister under similar circumstances. Allie, I have never supposed that you imagined our engagement to be one of love. We liked each other, and were taught to think it was the proper thing for us to marry. I did not love you very much, and you did not love me——”
“But, Godfrey, I can now,” Alice sobbed; and Godfrey replied:
“Not as you will love some one else by and by; while I,—Allie, I believe I have loved Gertie Westbrooke since she was a child, but I did not know it until I was engaged to you, and met her here a woman. Then it came upon me, and for a time I was miserable. But I meant to keep my word to you, and should have done so if you had not yourself set me free. I do not ask if you knew what you were saying. I accept the fact, and cannot go back on it. It was not a manly act to thrust you aside in the water, but I did not know what I was doing, for Gertie was drowning and calling on me to save her, and I had no thought for anything else. I shall ask her to be my wife, and if she refuses, as she may, I shall bide my time and ask her again; have her I must; but, Allie, you and I will be friends always, just the same, and try to forget the past summer, which has not brought much happiness to either of us. I have been constantly fighting against my love for another, and you have been dissatisfied at not receiving from me all you had a right to expect. And it would grow worse, all the time, and it is better to end it now. If you like the ring, keep it, as you would a gift from your brother, and let me be a brother to you. I cannot be anything else. Will you, Allie?”
Never in her life had Alice Creighton prized Godfrey as she did then when she knew she was losing him, and her slight form shook with sobs, but she did not withdraw the hand he took in his, and when he said again: “Shall it be so, Allie! Shall we be friends?” she answered: “Yes, Godfrey,” and hurriedly left the room.
CHAPTER XLIV.
GODFREY AND GERTIE.
Gertie’s plunge in the river was not followed by any serious consequences, and on the morning succeeding the accident, although she was very pale and languid, she complained of nothing but weakness and soreness from the rubbings we had given her, and she came to breakfast looking, like a little Quakeress in one of my sober wrappers, with only a plain linen collar around her neck, and her hair gathered into a net.