"Miss Sherwood,"
he began, "there is something I have been longing to say to you for
weeks past, and though it is a perfectly useless, almost impertinent
thing to say, still I cannot leave it burning in my heart any longer.
It is that you are dearer to me than any woman on earth--and always
will be." His voice broke a little, but he went bravely on. "You need
not think that I shall annoy you with frequent repetitions of this
fact, or that I expect to gain anything by the statement of it. I know
that you are proud and self-sufficing, and," a little bitterly, "that
I can never be anything more to you than the dust thrown up by your
horse's heels--a necessary evil. I don't know why I should tell you
this, except that I cannot suffer in silence any longer. I am going to
leave you now--to leave you forever. Won't you say good-bye? Is there
nothing you will say to me, little Nan?"
In spite of himself his voice had sunk to a tone of caressing
tenderness. The pale proud girl had listened to him without moving a
fibre or lifting an eyelash. But now there came a great flow of blood
to her face, a swift rush of tears to her eyes.
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