“But I knew what a good honest fellow he was, and I determined to become his friend. Alas! his friendship for me, because he intended to consult me and tell me what he had discovered, cost him his life.”
“Ah no!” she cried, “do not recall that. It is all too terrible—too terrible!”
“I know what a blow it was for you,” I went on madly. “I suffered all your poignant grief because I loved you—”
“No, no?”
“Let me finish—let me tell you, Asta, now, once and for all, what I feel and what is in my heart. I knew that, with memories of poor Guy still upon you, that you could care nothing for me—perhaps barely like me. I know that at first you almost felt you hated me, yet I have kept my secret to myself, and I have loved you, Asta—loved you better than mere words of mine can tell.”
And I bent and drew her gently to me.
She made no response. Only she looked at me swiftly, and a long sigh escaped her lips.
“In all my life I have never loved any woman but you—so long as I live I never shall,” I declared, in a fervent voice. “If you are not my wife, Asta, then no other woman will ever be. I could not speak before—I dared not. I could not think that you even liked me, and I should have to take time to teach you the sweet lesson I longed to teach you. But to-night, my beloved, I have thrown hesitation to the winds. Now that you are to live, I have told you—I ask you, my love, to be my wife!”
“And I—I thought—”
“Yes,” I said, tightening my hold upon her hand and placing my arm softly about her neck.