“Yes,” said Erskine, trembling, “and I thought he meant in earnest in loving you. You can hardly blame me for that: I was in love myself; and love is blind and jealous. I never hoped again until he told me that he was to be married to Miss Wylie. May I speak to you, now that I know I was mistaken, or that you have changed your mind?” “Or that he has changed his mind,” said Gertrude scornfully. Erskine, with a new anxiety for her sake, checked himself. Her dignity was dear to him, and he saw that her disappointment had made her reckless of it. “Do not say anything to me now, Miss Lindsay, lest--” “What have I said? What have I to say?” “Nothing, except on my own affairs. I love you dearly.” She made an impatient movement, as if that were a very insignificant matter. “You believe me, I hope,” he said, timidly. Gertrude made an effort to recover her habitual ladylike reserve, but her energy failed before she had done more than raise her head. She relapsed into her listless attitude, and made a faint gesture of intolerance. “You cannot be quite indifferent to being loved,” he said, becoming more nervous and more urgent. “Your existence constitutes all my happiness. I offer you my services and devotion. I do not ask any reward.” (He was now speaking very quickly and almost inaudibly.) “You may accept my love without returning it. I do not want--seek to make a bargain. If you need a friend you may be able to rely on me more confidently because you know I love you.” “Oh, you think so,” said Gertrude, interrupting him; “but you will get over it. I am not the sort of person that men fall in love with. You will soon change your mind.” “Not the sort! Oh, how little you know!” he said, becoming eloquent. “I have had plenty of time to change, but I am as fixed as ever. If you doubt, wait and try me. But do not be rough with me. You pain me more than you can imagine when you are hasty or indifferent. I am in earnest.” “Ha, ha! That is easily said.” “Not by me. I change in my judgment of other people according to my humor, but I believe steadfastly in your goodness and beauty--as if you were an angel. I am in earnest in my love for you as I am in earnest for my own life, which can only be perfected by your aid and influence.” “You are greatly mistaken if you suppose that I am an angel.” “You are wrong to mistrust yourself; but it is what I owe to you and not what I expect from you that I try to express by speaking of you as an angel. I know that you are not an angel to yourself. But you are to me.” She sat stubbornly silent. “I will not press you for an answer now. I am content that you know my mind at last. Shall we return together?” She looked round slowly at the hemlock, and from that to the river. Then she took up her basket, rose, and prepared to go, as if under compulsion. “Do you want any more hemlock?” he said. “If so, I will pluck some for you.”