"I care," said she.
I took both her hands in mine, and, looking full in her face, said, in a low voice,—
"Jane, how much do you care?"
"A whole heart full," she replied, in a voice as low and as earnest as my own.
She was leaning on the fence; I leaned back beside her, for I grew sick and faint, thinking of the great joy that might be coming.
"Jane," said I, solemnly, "you wouldn't marry me, would you?"
"Certainly not," she replied. "How can I, when you have never asked me?"
"Jane," said I, and my voice sounded strange even to myself, "I hope you are not trifling;—you never would dare, did you know the state I am in, that I have been in for—oh, so long! But I can't have hidden all my love. Can't you see how my life almost is hanging upon your answer? Jane, do you love me, and will you be my wife?"
"Henry," she replied, softly, but firmly, "I do love you. I have loved you a long, long time, and I shall be proud to be your wife, if—you think me worthy."
It was more than I could bear. The sleepless nights, the days of almost entire fasting, together with all my troubles, had been too much for me. I was weak in body and in mind.