"
"My aunt could not have the same interest. Who is he, Mary?"
"I will not tell you."
He paused a few moments and walked on a step or two before he spoke
again. "I would it were I," he said.
"What!" she ejaculated.
"I would it were I," he repeated.
One glance of her eye stole itself round into his face, and then
her face was turned quickly to the ground. Her parasol which had
been raised drooped listless from her hand. All unconsciously she
hastened her steps and became aware that the tears were streaming
from her eyes. For a moment or two it seemed to her that all was
still hopeless. If he had no more to say than that, certainly she
had not a word. He had made her no tender of his love. He had not
told her that in very truth she was his chosen one. After all she
was not sure that she understood the meaning of those words "I
would it were I" But the tears were coming so quick that she could
see nothing of the things around her, and she did not dare even to
put her hand up to her eyes. If he wanted her love,--if it was
possible that he really wished for it,--why did he not ask for it?
She felt his footsteps close to hers, and she was tempted to walk
on quicker even than before. Then there came the fingers of a hand
round her waist, stealing gradually on till she felt the pressure
of his body on her shoulders.
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