His eyes beseeched; and into hers, widely
fixed upon him, had sprung tears--the tears of life's supremest joy. Her
lip trembled.
"I'm not worthy!" she said, in a whisper--"I'm not worthy!"
"Foolish Diana!--Darling, foolish Diana!--Give me my answer!"
And now he held both hands, and his confident smile dazzled her.
"I--" Her voice broke. She tried again, still in a whisper. "I will be
everything to you--that a woman can."
At that he put his arm round her, and she let him take that first kiss,
in which she gave him her youth, her life--all that she had and was.
Then she withdrew herself, and he saw her brow contract, and her mouth.
"I know!"--he said, tenderly--"I know! Dear, I think he would have been
glad. He and I made friends from the first."
She plucked at the heather beside her, trying for composure. "He would
have been so glad of a son--so glad--"
And then, by contrast with her own happiness, the piteous memory of her
father overcame her; and she cried a little, hiding her eyes against
Marsham's shoulder.
"There!" she said, at last, withdrawing herself, and brushing the tears
away. "That's all--that's done with--except in one's heart.
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