‘You had nothing to be grateful for,’ said she, raising her eyes, and looking full and straight at him.  ’You mean, I suppose, that you believe you ought to thank me for what I did.’  In spite of herself—­in defiance of her anger—­the thick blushes came all over her face, and burnt into her very eyes; which fell not nevertheless from their grave and steady look.  ’It was only a natural instinct; any woman would have done just the same.  We all feel the sanctity of our sex as a high privilege when we see danger.  I ought rather,’ said she, hastily, ’to apologise to you, for having said thoughtless words which sent you down into the danger.’

’It was not your words; it was the truth they conveyed, pun-gently as it was expressed.  But you shall not drive me off upon that, and so escape the expression of my deep gratitude, my—­’ he was on the verge now; he would not speak in the haste of his hot passion; he would weigh each word.  He would; and his will was triumphant.  He stopped in mid career.

‘I do not try to escape from anything,’ said she.  ’I simply say, that you owe me no gratitude; and I may add, that any expression of it will be painful to me, because I do not feel that I deserve it.  Still, if it will relieve you from even a fancied obligation, speak on.’

‘I do not want to be relieved from any obligation,’ said he, goaded by her calm manner.  Fancied, or not fancied—­I question not myself to know which—­I choose to believe that I owe my very life to you—­ay—­smile, and think it an exaggeration if you will.  I believe it, because it adds a value to that life to think—­oh, Miss Hale!’ continued he, lowering his voice to such a tender intensity of passion that she shivered and trembled before him, ’to think circumstance so wrought, that whenever I exult in existence henceforward, I may say to myself, “All this gladness in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this keen sense of being, I owe to her!” And it doubles the gladness, it makes the pride glow, it sharpens the sense of existence till I hardly know if it is pain or pleasure, to think that I owe it to one—­nay, you must, you shall hear’—­said he, stepping forwards with stern determination—­’to one whom I love, as I do not believe man ever loved woman before.’  He held her hand tight in his.  He panted as he listened for what should come.  He threw the hand away with indignation, as he heard her icy tone; for icy it was, though the words came faltering out, as if she knew not where to find them.

’Your way of speaking shocks me.  It is blasphemous.  I cannot help it, if that is my first feeling.  It might not be so, I dare say, if I understood the kind of feeling you describe.  I do not want to vex you; and besides, we must speak gently, for mamma is asleep; but your whole manner offends me—­’

‘How!’ exclaimed he.  ‘Offends you!  I am indeed most unfortunate.’