And I didn't dare write to ye--
it would have looked like presumption from me. But now that ye've
come here--ye've found me out and I want to ask yer pardon--an' I
want to ask ye not to be angry with me."
"I couldn't be angry with you, Peg."
He paused, and, as he looked at her, the reserve of the held-in,
self-contained man was broken. He bent over her and said softly:
"Peg, I love you!"
A cry welled up from Peg's heart to her lips, and was stifled. The
room swam around her.
Was all her misery to end?
Did this man come back from the mists of memory BECAUSE he loved
her?
She tried to speak but nothing came from her parched lips and
tightened throat.
Then she became conscious that he was speaking again, and she
listened to him with all her senses, with all her heart, and from
her soul.
"I knew you would never write to me, and somehow I wondered just how
much you cared for me--if at all. So I came here. I love you, Peg. I
want you to be my wife. I want to care for you, and tend you, and
make you happy. I love you!"
Her heart leaped and strained. The blood surged to her temples.
"Do you love me?" she whispered, and her voice trembled and broke.
"I do. Indeed I do. Be my wife."
"But you have a title," she pleaded
"Share it with me!" he replied.
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