"Whether you consent to marry me, or not" said he "I shall always be the better of having known and loved you, and, if you cannot love me in return, it will satisfy you perhaps to know that you have done me a great good otherwise."
I sat in silence for a moment, listening to the deep vibrations of his solemn voice, ringing through the quiet little room, the hand that supported my thoughtful face had grown cold and clammy, something weighed upon my heart, like an unfolded mystery, pregnant with sorrow or joy, I knew not which. He stood beside me, leaning one elbow against the broad, old fashioned mantel, and looking into the fire—at length I raised my eyes, and said with a timid voice.
"I do not deserve your love, Arthur—though I would now, if I could, if it were in my power."
"What do you mean Amey?" he interrupted with solemn enquiry.
I fidgeted with the folds of my drapery, for another few seconds, and then answered nervously:
"I hardly know, myself," then lifting up my eyes to his serious face again, I said as frankly as I knew how. "You have not asked me, Arthur, whether I have ever loved any one else before?"
He kept on, looking steadily at me, until his blue eyes seemed to have penetrated the very farthest depths of my soul; then, he answered, slowly, and with thrilling emphasis.
"You have loved Ernest Dalton, I know. Is there any one else?"
I dropped my lids instantly, and folded my hands tightly together, his words went through and through me. I hardly knew what to say next, but feeling that it was urgent upon me to speak in some way, I asked in a subdued tone, with my eyes still lowered upon my folded hands,
"How do you know I loved Ernest Dalton?"