well enough for her to ask it, but I feel strong enough now to override her reluctance. I 've cast off the millstone from round my neck. I care for nothing, I know nothing but that I love her with every pulse of my being,—and that everything else has been a hideous dream, from which she may wake me into blissful morning with a single word!"
I held him off at arm's-length and looked at him gravely. "You have told her, you mean, of your engagement to Miss Vernor?"
"The whole story! I've given it up,—I 've thrown it to the winds. I 've broken utterly with the past. It may rise in its grave and give me its curse, but it can't frighten me now. I 've a right to be happy. I 've a right to be free, I 've a right not to bury myself alive. It was n't I who promised! I was n't born then. I myself, my soul, my mind, my option,—all this is but a month old! Ah," he went on, "if you knew the difference it makes,—this having chosen and broken and spoken! I'm twice the man I was yesterday! Yesterday I was afraid of her; there was a kind of mocking mystery of knowledge and cleverness about her, which oppressed me in the midst of my love. But now I'm afraid of nothing but of being too happy."
I stood silent, to let him spend his eloquence.
