"You? It is I am the brute; ever to have suspected you. My conscience told me all along I was a brute! And you--have you not proved it to me in this last minute, Grace?--proved to me that I am not worthy to kiss the dust from off your feet?" Grace lay silent in his arms: but her eyes were fixed upon him; her hands were folded on her bosom; her lips moved as if in prayer. He put back her long tresses tenderly, and looked into her deep glorious eyes. "There! I have told you all. Will you forgive my baseness; and take me, and teach me, about this Father in heaven, through poverty and wealth, for better, for worse, as my wife--my wife?" She leapt up at him suddenly, as if waking from a dream, and wreathed her arms about his neck. "Oh, Mr. Thurnall! my dear, brave, wise, wonderful Mr. Thurnall! come home again!--home to God!--and home to me! I am not worthy! Too much happiness, too much, too much:--but you will forgive, will you not,--and forget--forget?" And so the old heart passed away from Thomas Thurnall: and instead of it grew up a heart like his father's; even the heart of a little child. End of Project Gutenberg's Two Years Ago, Volume II., by Charles Kingsley