"Offended!" she cried, "Why should I take offence? I see you once in a
blue moon. You flatter yourself strangely, Mr. Garvald, if you think
you are ever in my thoughts."
"You are never out of mine," I said dismally.
At this she laughed, something of the old elfin laughter which I had
heard on the wet moors.
"A compliment!" she cried, "To be mixed up eternally with the weights
of tobacco and the prices of Flemish lace. You are growing a very
pretty courtier, sir."
"I am no courtier," I said. "I think brave things of you, though I have
not the words to fit them. But one thing I will say to you. Since ever
you sang to the boy that once was me your spell has been on my soul.
And when I saw you again three months back that spell was changed from
the whim of youth to what men call love. Oh, I know well there is no
hope for me. I am not fit to tie your shoe-latch. But you have made a
fire in my cold life, and you will pardon me if I dare warm my hands.
The sun is brighter because of you, and the flowers fairer, and the
birds' song sweeter. Grant me this little boon, that I may think of
you. Have no fears that I will pester you with attentions. No priest
ever served his goddess with a remoter reverence than mine for you.
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