‘It’s not pity that brings me here,’ said the warm-hearted girl, with all her heart in her face. ‘It’s something more. I’ve come to ask your forgiveness.’
‘My forgiveness!’ cried Desmond. ‘For what?’
‘For all my foolish ways—my thoughtless words. I ought to have known better. But we were both so young. Well, I was a child this morning, but seeing your trouble, I feel to-night like an old, old woman.’
‘Ah! You’re still what you always were, Dulcie, sweet and beautiful. ’Twas on a sunny summer’s day God made ye, and ’Twas the brightest bit of work He ever did!’
‘You’re not going away, Desmond?’ she besought him.
‘I must,’ he answered.
‘I came to ask you for your father’s sake, for mine, to stay a little while. You will, Desmond? For my sake!’
‘They’re words to conjure with, Dulcie,’ said Desmond. ‘But sure I can’t. D’ye know what they’ll all be calling me? D’ye know what name they’ll soon be giving me? How can I stay and look you in the face?’
‘Oh, Desmond,’ she pleaded, ‘your father——’
‘Don’t spake of him!’ cried Desmond.