The hardships of the past had thinned her face and
deepened her eyes, but her grace was the more manifest. Fresh and dewy
as morning, yet with a soul of steel and fire--surely no lovelier
nymph ever graced a woodland. I felt how rough and common was my own
clay in contrast with her bright spirit.
"Elspeth," I said hoarsely, "once I told you what was in my heart."
Her face grew grave. "And have you not seen what is in mine?" she
asked.
"I have seen and rejoiced, and yet I doubt."
"But why?" she asked again. "My life is yours, for you have preserved
it. I would be graceless indeed if I did not give my best to you who
have given all for me."
"It is not gratitude I want. If you are only grateful, put me out of
your thoughts, and I will go away and strive to forget you. There were
twenty in the Tidewater who would have done the like."
She looked down on me from the rock with the old quizzing humour in her
eyes.
"If gratitude irks you, sir, what would you have?"
"All," I cried; "and yet, Heaven knows, I am not worth it. I am no man
to capture a fair girl's heart. My face is rude and my speech harsh,
and I am damnably prosaic. I have not Ringan's fancy, or Grey's
gallantry; I am sober and tongue-tied and uncouth, and my mind runs
terribly on facts and figures.
Pages:
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386