‘Oh, it does not matter!’ said Mary; ‘but, of course, since it is something important enough to bring you from town like this,—and at this hour—— Tell me, please, and put me out of pain.’
What he did was to draw her arm closely through his own. ‘Come this way,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to be seen or interrupted. There is a corner down here where we shall be quite safe. It was very good of you, Mary, to come.’
‘Oh, Ben,’ she cried, ‘don’t talk so, you frighten me! You never were so gentle, so soft to me before. Tell me what it is. It must be something terrible to make you look like this. What is wrong?’
‘I don’t know if there is anything wrong,’ he said. ‘It depends upon your feelings altogether, Mary; only I never had thought of,—anything of the kind,—never! It came upon me like a thunder-clap. To be sure. I might have known. You could not but be as sweet and as pleasant in the eyes of others as you were in mine——’
‘Ben, don’t talk riddles, I entreat of you,’ said Mary. ‘I cannot make this out to-day. A shadow would frighten me to-day. I have had too much to bear,—too much,—‘
‘Sit down here,’ he said, tenderly; ‘you must not be frightened. There is nothing to hurt you. It is only me that it can hurt. Mary, Hillyard came to me yesterday, and said,—I suppose by this time you must know what he said?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, first with a violent blush, and then growing suddenly hot.
‘Of course, I ought to have known it,’ said Ben. ‘I used to read him your letters, like an ass, never thinking. I was furious yesterday; I thought it presumption and insolence. But, of course, that was nonsense. The man is as good as I am. The fact is, I suppose I thought that no other man but myself had any right to think of you.’
‘Ben!’ Mary cried, trembling with a sudden passion, ‘you never thought of me! How can you say so? or what is it you would have me understand? I feel as if you were mocking me,—and yet you would not come all this way, surely, to mock me!’
‘Then, I did not think at all,’ he went on, without any direct answer. ‘I felt that no man had any right,—and I was a fool for thinking so. Mary, the fact is, it ought to be you and I.’