Meanwhile, surprised by the turn her thoughts had taken, he was still more surprised by the change in her looks, the color in her cheeks, the light in her eyes. He did not understand, and for a moment, seeing himself no hope but only sorrow and parting, he was tempted to think that she trifled. What mattered it what coat he wore, or what had stained it, or the details of a story old now, and which he supposed to be as well known to her as to him? Perhaps she did not comprehend, and, “Jos,” he said, inviting her to be serious, “do you understand that this is our parting?”
But “No! no!” she said resolutely. “We are not going to part.”
“But don’t you see,” sadly, “that I cannot go to your father now? That next week we may be beggars, and my father a ruined man? I could ask no man, even a poor man, for his daughter now. I must work to live, work as a clerk—as, I don’t know what, Jos, but in some position far removed from your life, and far removed from your class. I could not speak to your father now, and it is that which has brought me to you to—to say good-bye, dearest—to part, Jos! The gates are closed, we must go out of the garden, dear. And you”—he looked at her with yearning eyes—“must forgive me, before we part.”
“Perhaps we are not going to part,” she said.
He shook his head. He would not deceive her. “Nothing else is possible,” he said.
“Perhaps, and perhaps not. At any rate,” putting her hands in his, and looking at him with brave, loving eyes, “I would not undo one of those days—in the garden! No, nor an hour of them. They are precious to me. And for forgiving, I have nothing to forgive and nothing to regret, if we never meet again, Clement. But we shall meet. What if you have to begin the world again? We are both young. You will work for me. And do you think that I will not wait for you, wait until you have climbed up again, or until something happens to bring us together? Do you not know that I love you more now, far more, in your unhappiness—that you are more to me, a thousand times more to-day—than in your prosperity?”
“Oh, Jos!” He could say no more, but his swimming eyes spoke for him.
“But you must leave it to me now,” she continued. “After all, things may turn out better than you think. You may not be ruined. People may not be so foolish as to want all their money at once. Have hope, and—and remember that I am always here, though you do not see me or hear from me; that I am always here, thinking of you, waiting for you, loving you, always yours, Clement, till you come—though it be ten years hence.”
“Oh, Jos!” His eyes were overflowing now.
“You believe me, you do believe me, don’t you?” she said. “And now you must go. But kiss me first. No, I do not mind who sees us, or who knows that I am yours now. I am past that.”