"They were honest words? You have not regretted them since?"
"No, Geoffry. Perhaps they were not maidenly, yet were they honest; why should I not have told you the truth? I have long known my own heart, and yours, as well."
"And you still repeat what you said then?"
"Perhaps I do not remember all I said."
"I can never forget—you said, 'I love you.'"
She drew a quick breath, and for an instant remained silent; then her courage conquered.
"Yes, I can repeat that—I love you."
"Those are dear, dear words; but I ought not to listen to them, or believe. I am not free to ask a pledge of you, or to beg you to trust me in marriage."
"Is not that rather for me to decide?" she questioned archly. "I give you my faith, Geoffry, and surely no girl ever had more reason to know the heart of a man than I. You have risked all to serve me, and I would be ungrateful indeed were I insensible of the sacrifice. Yet do not think that is all—gratitude for what you have done. I did not need that to teach me your nature. I make a confession now. You remember the night I met you on deck, when you were a prisoner, and told you that you had become the property of Roger Fairfax?"
"I could never forget."