“I dare to come here, Joan,” he answered, with some show of dignity, “because I love you. Oh! I beg of you, do not drive me away until you have heard me; and indeed, it would be useless, for I shall only wait in the street till I can speak to you.” “You know that I do not wish to hear you,” she answered; “and it is cowardly of you to hunt me down when I am weak and ill, as though I were a wild beast.” “I understand, Joan, that you are not too ill to see Sir Henry Graves; surely, then, you can listen to me for a few minutes; and as for my being cowardly, I do not care if I am though why a man should be called a coward because he comes to ask the woman he loves to marry him, I can’t say.” “To marry you!” exclaimed Joan, turning pale and sinking back into her chair; “I thought that we had settled all that long ago, Mr. Rock, out by the Bradmouth meres.” “We spoke of it, Joan, but we did not settle it. We both grew angry, and said and did things which had best be forgotten. You swore that you would never marry me, and I swore that you should live to beg me to marry you, for you drove me mad with your cruel words. We were wrong, both of us; so let’s wipe all that out, for I believe I shall marry you, Joan, and I know that you will never plead with me to do it, nor would I wish it so. Oh! hear me, hear me. You don’t know what I have suffered since I lost you; but I tell you that I have been filled with all the tortures of hell; I have thought of you by day and dreamed of you by night, till I began to believe my brain would burst and that I must go mad, as I shall do if I lose you altogether. At last I heard that you had been ill and got your address, and now once more I come to pray you to take pity on me and to promise to be my wife. If only you will do that, I swear to you I will be the best husband that ever a woman had: yes, I will make myself your slave, and you shall want for nothing which I can give you. I do not ask your love, I do not even ask that you should treat me kindly. Deal with me as you will, be bitter and scornful and trample me in the dirt, and I will be content if only you will let me live where I can see you day by day. This isn’t a new thing with me, Joan it has gone on for years; and now it has come to this, that either I must get the promise of you or go mad. Then do not drive me away, but have mercy as you hope for mercy. Pity me and consent.” And with an inarticulate sound that was half a sob and half a groan, he flung himself upon his knees and, clasping his hands, looked up at her with a rapt face like that of a man lost in earnest prayer.