“Will you never be contented?” she returned, “Isn’t it mean to say these things now? I can’t get away. I have half a mind to marry Jack, to be rid of you both.”
“Is it yes or no, Darthea?”
“Yes,” she said, looking me in the face. I am a strong man,—I was so then,—but a great rush of blood seemed to go to my head, and then I went pale, as she told me later, and I clutched at Lucy’s mane. I felt as if I might fall, so much was I moved by this great news of joy.
“Are you ill?” she cried.
“No, no,” I said; “it is love! Thy dear love I cannot bear. Thank God, Darthea!”
“And do you love me so much, Hugh? I—I did not know.” She was like a sweet, timid child.
I could only say, “Yes, yes!”
“Oh, Hugh!” she cried. “How can you forgive me? But I am not like other women. My word—you will know—and then you will forgive me.” Her eyes were full of tears, her face all aglow.
“There is—there never will be anything to forgive.”
“But I was so foolish—and—I was so foolish.”