our life without benefiting
me. I should be now in the well of Cawnpore, or worse, at Bithoor."

"That may be," he said gravely, "but it does not alter the fact."

"I have no reason to know why you consider you should have stopped in
the boat, Mr. Bathurst," she went on quietly, but with a slight flush
on her cheek. "I can perhaps guess by what you afterwards did for me, by
the risks you ran to save me; but I cannot go by guesses, I think I have
a right to know."

"You are making me say what I did not mean to say," he exclaimed
passionately, "at least not now; but you do more than guess, you
know--you know that I love you."

"And what do you know?" she asked softly.

"I know that you ought not to love me." he said. "No woman should love a
coward."

"I quite agree with you, but then I know that you are not a coward."

"Not when I jumped over and left you alone? It was the act of a cur."

"It was an act for which you were not really responsible. Had you been
able to think, you would not have done so. I do not take the view the
Doctor does, and I agree with you that a man loving a woman should first
of all think of her and of her safety. So you thought when you could
think, but you were no more responsible for your action than a madman
for a murder committed when in a state of frenzy. It was an impulse
you could not control. Had you, after the impulse had passed, come down
here, believing, as you might well have believed, that it was absolutely
impossible to rescue me from my fate, it would have been different. But
the moment you came to yourself you deliberately took every risk
and showed how brave you were when master of yourself. I am speaking
plainly, perhaps more plainly than I ought to. But I should despise
myself had I not the courage to speak out now when so much is at stake,
and after all you have done for me.

"You love me?"

"You know that I love you."

"And I love you," the girl said; "more than that, I honor and esteem
you. I am proud of your love. I am jealous for your honor as for my own,
and I hold that honor to be spotless. Even now, even with my happiness
at stake, I could not speak so plainly had I not spoken so cruelly and
wrongly before. I did not know you then as I know you now, but having
said what I thought then, I am bound to say what I think now, if only as
a penance. Did I hesitate to do so, I should be less grateful than that
poor Indian girl who was ready as she said, to give her l