"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you are either my wife, or have promised to become so."

"Oh, Will; you know that that is impossible."

"Then it is impossible that I should come here again."

"You know that I am engaged to another man."

"Of course I do. I am not asking you to break your engagement. I am
simply telling you that in spite of that engagement I love you as
well as I did love you before you had made it. I have a right to let
you know the truth." As if she had not known it without his telling
it to her now! "It was here that I told you that I loved you. I now
repeat it here; and will never come here again unless I may say the
same thing over and over and over. That is all. We might as well go
on now." But when he got up she sat down, as though unwilling to
leave the spot. It was still winter, and the rock was damp with cold
drippings from the trees, and the moss around was wet, and little
pools of water had formed themselves in the shallow holes upon the
surface. She did not speak as she seated herself; but he was of
course obliged to wait till she should be ready to accompany him. "It
is too cold for you to sit there," he said. "Come, Clara; I will not
have you loiter here. It is cold and wet."

"It is not colder for me than for you."

"You are not used to that sort of thing as I am."

"Will," she said, "you must never speak to me again as you spoke just
now. Promise me that you will not."

"Promises will do no good in such a matter."

"It is almost a repetition of what you did before;--though of course
it is not so bad as that."

"Everything I do is bad."

"No, Will:--dear Will! Almost everything you do is good. But of what
use can it be to either of us for you to be thinking of that which
can never be? Cannot you think of me as your sister,--and only as
your sister?"

"No; I cannot."

"Then it is not right that we should be together."

"I know nothing of right. You ask me a question, and I suppose you
don't wish that I should tell you a lie."

"Of course I do not wish that."

"Therefore I tell you the truth. I love you,--as any other man loves
the girl that he does love; and, as far as I know myself now, I never
can be happy unless you are my own."

"Oh, Will, how can that be when I am engaged to marry another man?"

"As to your engagement I should care nothing. Does he love you as I
love you? If he loves you, why is he not here? If he loves you, why
does he let his mother ill-use you