"And I also, for your sake!" She looked up devoutly.
"Now, I can take more workmen; give better wages; lay wiser and more liberal plans; do some good; be less selfish: now, Caroline, I can have a house—a home which I can truly call mine—and now"
He paused; for his deep voice was checked.
"And now," he resumed—"now I can think of marriage; now I can seek a wife."
This was no moment for her to speak: she did not speak.
"Will Caroline, who meekly hopes to be forgiven as she forgives—will she pardon all I have made her suffer—all that long pain I have wickedly caused her—all that sickness of body and mind she owed to me? Will she forget what she knows of my poor ambition—my sordid schemes? Will she let me expiate these things? Will she suffer me to prove that, as I once deserted cruelly, trifled wantonly, injured basely, I can now love faithfully, cherish fondly, treasure tenderly?"
His hand was in Caroline's still: a gentle pressure answered him.
"Is Caroline mine?"
"Caroline is yours."
"I will prize her: the sense of her value is here, in my heart; the necessity for her society is blended with my life: not more jealous shall I be of the blood whose flow moves my pulses, than of her happiness and well-being."
