Morton," she said, trying to smile.
"I was always Mary." And then she burst into tears. "Why,--why
won't you come?"
"I should only stalk about like a ghost. I couldn't be merry as a
man should be at a wedding. I don't see how a man is to do such a
thing." She looked up into his face imploring him,--not to come,
for that she felt now to be impossible, but imploring him to
express in some way forgiveness of the sin she had committed
against him. "But I shall think of you and shall wish you well."
"And after that we shall be friends?"
"By and bye,--if he pleases."
"He will please;--he does please. Of course he saw what I wrote to
you. And now, Larry, if I have ever treated you badly, say that you
pardon me."
"If I had known it--" he said.
"How could I tell you,--till he had spoken? And yet I knew it
myself! It has been so,--oh,--ever so long! What could I do? You
will say that you will forgive me."
"Yes; I will say that."
"And you will not go away from Chowton?"
"Oh, no! They tell me I ought to stay here, and I suppose I shall
stay. I thought I'd just come over and say a word. I'm going away
to-morrow for a month. There is a fellow has got some fishing in
Ireland. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Larry."
"And I thought perhaps you'd take this now." Then he brought out
from his pocket at little ruby ring which he had carried often in
his pocket to the attorney's house, thinking that perhaps then
might come the happy hour in which he could get her to accept it.
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