Oh, Gretchen," falling back to humble tones, "what a
weary year has been wasted. You know that I love you; you have never
really doubted it; you know that you have not. Had you gone to your
sister when she wrote to you, she would have told you that it was for
you alone that I made her a Princess; that all my efforts were to make
you free to wed. Gretchen, you will not send me away this time, will
you? You will be kind and bid me to stay?"
"She loves you," whispered Gretchen.
This admitted no reply. I simply pressed my lips to her hair. The
sobs were growing audibly less.
"I read it in her eyes," persisted Gretchen.
"Gretchen, answer me: do you love me?"
"Yes."
I placed my hands against her temples, and turned her head around so
that those blue-green eyes, humid and tearful, looked into mine.
"Oh, I cannot deny it. If I wrong her in accepting your love, it is
because I cannot help it. I love you better than all the world; so
well do I love you that--" Her head sank on my heart, and her sobs
began afresh.
"That what, Gretchen?" I asked.
"Nothing." By and by she said; "Keep faith with me, and I promise to
love as few women can.
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