"You mean he asked you to marry him!"
"Yes. And I said I would."
"You love him!"
The man's pallor frightened her silent. Then he dropped her arms, which he had been clutching, and stood
staring at nothing, gnawing at his colorless lips.
The girl watched him with dawning terror and finally ventured to speak. "Dear, what is the matter? Are you displeased with me? Do you think that he is not a man I should care for? You don't know him, dear. You have only to see him, to speak with him, hear his voice, look into his eyes——"
"Good God!" groaned Herold, closing his sunken eyes. Then, almost feeling his way out and along the dark passageway, he descended the stairs, heavily.
Marche, cleaning his gun in the sitting-room, looked up in surprise, then rose, laying aside stock, fore-end, and barrel, as Herold came into the room.
The next instant, stepping nearer, he stared into Herold's face in silence. And so they met and confronted each other after many years.
"Are you Herold?" said the young man, in a low voice.