“No; do not forget it, but pardon it, and try to look upon it as more venial than you now do. Oh, Ellen, had I not loved you beyond all that a man values in this world, would it be possible to have so far fallen in your esteem?”
She frowned, and was about to interrupt him; but he went on hurriedly—“Do not be angry. I will not speak to you of love again. I will only answer your question. I would, as I have said, that you should forgive my offence, and be the same to me as though it had never happened. Not only my use in life, my happiness, my honour depend on this, but life itself. I cannot exist without some share in your thoughts, in your interests, in your regard. Life would be intolerable if you were to be wholly taken away from me. Do I ask too much? Answer me quickly, for I am prepared for either alternative. You and God—if, indeed, there be above us a God who sees and cares—must now decide my course.”
“You frighten and bewilder me with your passion. I do not know what to answer you. Indeed, I hardly know whether I understand you. I have forgiven you. I bear you no ill will. I hope, indeed, that you may be happy, and that you may soon find some one who will be worthier of your love than I could have been. I am both sorry and ashamed of what has happened, and I will try to forget it, both for your sake and my own. Have I not said enough?”
“And the future?” he asked, with an anxious look.
“‘The future will be a continuation of the past, seeing that all is forgiven and forgotten.”
“And you will still allow me to speak to you, to see you? You will not treat me with silence and indifference?”
“I will be as I used to be,” said Ellen, with a look of doubt and hesitation. “And you will trust me?”
“Are you to be trusted, Mr. Santley?” she asked in a low voice. “You know how fully I trusted you before.”
“And you must trust me again if all is to be the same as it was. Is not that our agreement?”
“I will try to, but the result will entirely depend upon yourself.”