"Oh! poor soul—must thou really die?" sighed Prue, at last raising her eyes, filled with tears.
At the sight of those sweet, dewy eyes, the newly made husband thrilled in every nerve. "If those tears are for me, sweet Prudence," he said, "death is not so hard to bear."
"'Tis sad; indeed, I would I could do aught to comfort thee!" she murmured, half turned away, yet lingering.
A dark flush swept his cheek. "I could tell you, if I dared, how to make me forget everything but—yourself," he said.
"If you dared!" She flashed an arch glance at him. "On Bleakmoor, you were not so—so ceremonious, Sir Highwayman. Ask me for what you please. My powers are limited, but I will gladly do what I can to console you."
"An' thou wouldst really comfort me, kiss me once, as though I were thy real husband and thou lovedst me." He held out his arms to her, with such prayer and such insistence in his eyes, that Prue, startled, hung back an instant, and then, half involuntarily, drooped toward him, and permitted herself to be clasped in his passionate embrace.
When she drew herself away, her cheeks were rosy-red and her eyes cast down. But Robin, transferring his lips to her hand, fell on his knees before her.
"Oh!" he softly uttered, "I can bear to die now. Death itself can not rob me of your kiss."
"Then you forgive me for—marrying you?" she said.
"Forgive you! Oh! if you had killed me, I could have blessed you, but would not have presumed to think of pardon," he passionately breathed, "and now—" Words failed, and his lips finished the invocation on her hand.