He came still nearer, vainly hoping to see some indication of relenting; but the pale face was as firm as it was sad.

“I said before, Alice, that I do not attempt to defend my faithlessness, hardly to extenuate it; and I do not at all wonder at your altered temper towards me.  It was a cruel blow I gave you.  But my life shall show you the sincerity of my repentance.”

She shook her head as she answered,—­

“When you left me, the last spark of love went out.  It is hard to kindle anew the dead embers.  No,—­when I found that you could be untrue, all was over,—­past, present, and future.”

“But consider,” he said, still more earnestly, “what remains for you or me.  You will have the memory of this great sorrow, and I the unending remorse.  I can never love another woman while you live, and you—­may I say it?—­will never love again as you have loved.  Is it not for your own happiness, as it is most assuredly for mine, that you overlook the fault, receive me again, and trust to the lasting effect of the bitter lesson I have learned?  Forgive me, if I seem too bold,—­if the desire to atone for the past makes me sue for pardon with unbecoming zeal.  If I were less urgent, it would be because I was not sensible of the wrong, and careless about reparation.”

She was silent; contending passions strove for mastery.  She had not forgotten him, then!  He took courage and came yet nearer.

“Will you give me your hand?  Alice, will you?”

He reached his own towards her.

“No,—­pardon me,—­I must not.  It is not well to decide by impulse,—­to be swayed by a thrill.  When my heart tells me to give you my hand, it shall be yours.  I don’t wish to be charmed out of my calmer judgment.  Your presence, your fiery words, and your will, are sufficiently magnetic.”

“My dear Alice, I have been guilty of one folly, a serious one, but you don’t believe I am incapable of constancy henceforth.  Remember you were away; time hung heavily on my hands; my good nature made me accept invitations which brought me into daily contact with a woman who of all others was most dangerous to a man of ardent temperament.  The friendship which began without a thought of a nearer relation grew into an intimacy which I was not far-sighted enough to check.  In your own words, I was magnetized, thoroughly; and when, at last, in a scene of imminent danger, I rashly said some things that should not have been spoken, I found myself committed irrevocably.  It is not too much to say that the lady was looking for the opportunity which fate and my own stupidity gave her.  But the spell did not last.  Your face was constantly before me like an accusing angel.  I waited only until the lady recovered from a dangerous illness to tell her that I did not love her, and that my heart, as well as my faith, was yours.  I went at once to see you, and found your father dead, yourself homeless.  And from that hour I have done nothing but search for you.  Is it in vain?—­I can say no more.  Perhaps I have said too much.  But I implore you, Alice, by the memory of our love as it was once, by all your hope of the future, to forgive me, and not to make my whole life as miserable as the last few months have been to you.”