“I know I did; and, sometimes, I suspected it then; but I thought, upon the whole, there could be no great harm in leaving your fancies and your hopes to dream themselves to nothing⁠—or flutter away to some more fitting object, while your friendly sympathies remained with me; but if I had known the depth of your regard, the generous, disinterested affection you seem to feel⁠—”

“Seem, Helen?”

“That you do feel, then, I would have acted differently.”

“How? You could not have given me less encouragement, or treated me with greater severity than you did! And if you think you have wronged me by giving me your friendship, and occasionally admitting me to the enjoyment of your company and conversation, when all hopes of closer intimacy were vain⁠—as indeed you always gave me to understand⁠—if you think you have wronged me by this, you are mistaken; for such favours, in themselves alone, are not only delightful to my heart, but purifying, exalting, ennobling to my soul; and I would rather have your friendship than the love of any other woman in the world!”

Little comforted by this, she clasped her hands upon her knee, and glancing upward, seemed, in silent anguish, to implore divine assistance; then, turning to me, she calmly said⁠—“Tomorrow, if you meet me on the moor about midday, I will tell you all you seek to know; and perhaps you will then see the necessity of discontinuing our intimacy⁠—if, indeed, you do not willingly resign me as one no longer worthy of regard.”

“I can safely answer no to that: you cannot have such grave confessions to make⁠—you must be trying my faith, Helen.”

“No, no, no,” she earnestly repeated⁠—“I wish it were so! Thank heaven!” she added, “I have no great crime to confess; but I have more than you will like to hear, or, perhaps, can readily excuse⁠—and more than I can tell you now; so let me entreat you to leave me!”

“I will; but answer me this one question first;⁠—do you love me?”

“I will not answer it!”

“Then I will conclude you do; and so good night.”

She turned from me to hide the emotion she could not quite control; but I took her hand and fervently kissed it.

“Gilbert, do leave me!” she cried, in a tone of such thrilling anguish that I felt it would be cruel to disobey.

But I gave one look back before I closed the door, and saw her leaning forward on the table, with her hands pressed against her eyes, sobbing convulsively; yet I withdrew in silence. I felt that to obtrude my consolations on her then would only serve to aggravate her sufferings.

I could see the red firelight dimly gleaming from her parlour window. I went up to the garden wall, and stood leaning over it, with my eyes fixed upon the lattice, wondering what she was doing, thinking, or suffering now, and wishing I could speak to her but one word, or even catch one glimpse of her, before I went.