"I know," he went on, "that you are ambitious. And with your gifts I do not blame you. I cannot offer you great wealth, but I say with confidence that I can offer you something better, something surer. I can take care of you and protect you, and I will devote my life to your happiness. Will you marry me?"
Her eyes were sparkling with tears,—tears, he remembered afterwards, that were like blue diamonds.
"Oh, Peter," she cried, "I wish I could! I have always—wished that I could. I can't."
"You can't?"
She shook her head.
"I—I have told no one yet—not even Aunt Mary. I am going to marry Mr.
Spence."
For a long time he was silent, and she did not dare to look at the suffering in his face.
"Honora," he said at last, "my most earnest wish in life will be for your happiness. And whatever may, come to you I hope that you will remember that I am your friend, to be counted on. And that I shall not change. Will you remember that?"
"Yes," she whispered. She looked at him now, and through the veil of her tears she seemed to see his soul shining in his eyes. The tones of a distant church bell were borne to them on the valley breeze.
Peter glanced at his watch.