He was no more prudent than she. He forgot wisdom, circumstances, reason: all. His breath short, his words unchosen, he poured forth the tale of his love, and asked her if she would be his wife. Ethel bent her face on his coat-sleeve, and cried silent, happy tears.
"You know, you must know, how I have loved you, Ethel. I should have spoken long ago, but that circumstances held me back. Even now I fear that I cannot speak openly to Mr. Castlemaine: it may be some little time first. But oh, my darling, you have not, you cannot have mistaken my love."
Not a word. It was early yet for confession from her. But her face was still on his arm.
"For one thing, I am not rich, Ethel. I have quite enough for comfort, but not that which would give you a home like this. And Mr. Castlemaine----"
"I would rather be in a cottage with bread, than here," she interrupted, all her candour rising to the surface.
"And Mr. Castlemaine may not choose that you shall pit this house for one less well set-up, I was about to say, my love," he went on. "What we might find sufficient competence, he might deem poverty."
"I have plenty of money of my own," said Ethel simply.
"Have you?" cried Mr. North, in a surprised and anything but a gratified tone. He had certainly never known or suspected that she had money; and he foresaw that the fact might be only an additional reason for Mr. Castlemaine's rejection of him. "It may be so much the worse for us, Ethel. I may come into money myself; quite sufficient to satisfy even Mr. Castlemaine; or I may not. It is this uncertainty that has helped to keep me silent. But come what will now, we cannot part."
No, they could never part. Heart beating against heart, knew and ratified it. He gathered her face to his, whispering his sweet love-vows as he kissed off its tears.
And, for Ethel, the lonely surroundings, the dreary paths, the bare beds, the wintry trees, seemed suddenly to have changed into the Garden of Paradise.