“Has the desired promotion come so soon, then, or do you think I must speak to my father about your position when I next see him? I expected him here before this, but he writes that there is so much to be done, now the men are back, that he will be unable to come for perhaps a week or more.”
“I have not come here to beg for your father’s favour, but for yours. I love you, Edna, and I have loved you ever since I first saw you! Don’t imagine I am so—so conceited—that I have even a hope that you—you—care for me, for of course you don’t and can’t; but I wanted you to know. I wanted to tell you, and that is why I am here. I am poor,—I don’t deny that,—but your father was also poor once, and he has got on in the world. I will get on; I will work night and day. Whoever my master is, I will serve him faithfully,—my God! I will serve him on my knees, if that will convince him of my earnestness to win confidence and a place of trust,—and all the time cheerfully and hopefully, with your picture in my mind, as it has been in my mind—for so long—from the first. You see, I have no chance to win you as another might. You are in this school for the very purpose of keeping me from meeting you as I might meet you if I were rich. I have no fair chance—none at all, except what I steal for myself, as I have done to-day. It means so much to me—everything!—that I did not dare to take the risk. I know I have spoken too soon—too abruptly—but I dared not set my face at what is before me unless you knew. Some one might win you while I was working for you—there will be plenty to try. I don’t want you to say a word—I want neither hope nor discouragement—no promise—nothing! You know, and that is enough for me now. But I would like you to remember—sometimes—that there is no man striving as I shall strive. Think of that—when others speak. My darling—my darling—no man ever felt as I feel since the beginning of the world!”
Whatever diffidence Marsten hitherto experienced in Edna’s presence melted in the fervent heat of his passion when he began to speak. The words rushed forth, treading on the heels of those gone before, in jumbled, breathless procession; his face was aflame, and his nether lip trembled when he ceased to speak. At first he seemed to be running a race against time—they might be interrupted at any moment; but he soon forgot his competitor, and, so far as he was concerned, no one existed in the world but himself and the trembling, confused girl before him.
She, after her first look of amazed incredulity, felt backward with her hand for the support of the wall, and then gradually sank upon the seat, an expression, partly fear, overspreading her now colourless face. As Marsten went impetuously on, her head dropped upon her hands, and thus she remained while he spoke.
A pause ensued, so deep and silent that Marsten, as he leaned his hand against the door-post, afraid to move forward or retreat, heard the distant girlish laughter, free from any thought of problems other than those of the schoolroom. He knew he should remember every trivial detail of the place all his life,—the broom that lay at his feet; the book which had fallen open-leaved upon the floor; even the title glittering in gold on the side, which sent no meaning to his mind except one word that caught his attention,—“Courtship” (“The Courtship of Miles Standish” was the whole phrase), and he wondered vaguely if the courtship had prospered. Rapidly as his wondering eye gathered up the accessories of the scene, it always returned to the bowed and silent figure before him, and something in the outlines of her drooping shoulders told him intuitively of a change—elusive, but real. His mind had been too much occupied with the hard realities of life to indulge in speculative analysis of any sort, but now it was uplifted, touched by the magic wand of love, and endowed with: a subtle perception unknown to him before. He saw that the girl, who, as a child, welcomed him, would, as a woman, bid him farewell.
At last she slowly shook her head.
“It cannot be—it cannot be!” she murmured.
“Not now. I know that—I don’t ask that!” he cried, eagerly. “But—some time—some time?”
The girl did not look up.
“It can never be—never!” she said.