“Joan!”
She spoke very quietly, still looking at the grass.
“Promise me one thing,” she said.
“Tell it to me.”
“You will not grieve for my sake.”
He took a deep breath and hung his head.
“Promise me this,” she said, speaking more quickly—“ah! promise it me, for I would not change the past—no, not for my hope of heaven. It has taught me much—ah! how much you can never know. It has taught me the glory of being a woman. I can only bless you for it, my dearest, my dear—”
He stood before her, awed by a wonder that solemnized his whole being. He would have worshipped her save that his own shame forbade him. Only those who have beheld it can declare, the incomprehensible heroism of the love of a good woman.
“You shame me greatly,” was all he said.
Joan rose up suddenly and came very near to him.