“Well, perhaps nothing,” answered Zenobia, looking him in the face, and smiling.  “But we have come many times before to this gray rock, and we have talked very softly among the whisperings of the birch-trees.  They were pleasant hours!  I love to make the latest of them, though not altogether so delightful, loiter away as slowly as may be.  And, besides, you have put many queries to me at this, which you design to be our last interview; and being driven, as I must acknowledge, into a corner, I have responded with reasonable frankness.  But now, with your free consent, I desire the privilege of asking a few questions, in my turn.”

“I have no concealments,” said Hollingsworth.

“We shall see,” answered Zenobia.  “I would first inquire whether you have supposed me to be wealthy?”

“On that point,” observed Hollingsworth, “I have had the opinion which the world holds.”

“And I held it likewise,” said Zenobia.  “Had I not, Heaven is my witness the knowledge should have been as free to you as me.  It is only three days since I knew the strange fact that threatens to make me poor; and your own acquaintance with it, I suspect, is of at least as old a date.  I fancied myself affluent.  You are aware, too, of the disposition which I purposed making of the larger portion of my imaginary opulence,—­nay, were it all, I had not hesitated.  Let me ask you, further, did I ever propose or intimate any terms of compact, on which depended this—­as the world would consider it—­so important sacrifice?”

“You certainly spoke of none,” said Hollingsworth.

“Nor meant any,” she responded.  “I was willing to realize your dream freely,—­generously, as some might think,—­but, at all events, fully, and heedless though it should prove the ruin of my fortune.

If, in your own thoughts, you have imposed any conditions of this expenditure, it is you that must be held responsible for whatever is sordid and unworthy in them.  And now one other question.  Do you love this girl?”

“O Zenobia!” exclaimed Priscilla, shrinking back, as if longing for the rock to topple over and hide her.

“Do you love her?” repeated Zenobia.

“Had you asked me that question a short time since,” replied Hollingsworth, after a pause, during which, it seemed to me, even the birch-trees held their whispering breath, “I should have told you—­’No!’ My feelings for Priscilla differed little from those of an elder brother, watching tenderly over the gentle sister whom God has given him to protect.”

“And what is your answer now?” persisted Zenobia.

“I do love her!” said Hollingsworth, uttering the words with a deep inward breath, instead of speaking them outright.  “As well declare it thus as in any other way.  I do love her!”