‘Will the repeal do you good—much good, immediate good? she inquired.

‘The repeal of the Orders in Council saves me. Now I shall not turn bankrupt; now I shall not give up business; now I shall not leave England; now I shall be no longer poor; now I can pay my debts; now all the cloth I have in my warehouses will be taken off my hands, and commissions given me for much more. This day lays for my fortunes abroad firm foundation, on which, for the first time in my life, I can securely build.’

Caroline devoured his words. She held his hand in hers. She drew a long breath.

‘You are saved? Your heavy difficulties are lifted?’

‘They are lifted. I breathe; I can act.’

‘At last! Oh! Providence is kind. Thank Him, Robert.’

‘I do thank Providence.’

‘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 of 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.’

‘I love you, too, Robert, and will take faithful care of you.’

‘Will you take faithful care of me—faithful care, as if that rose should promise to shelter from tempest this hard, gray stone? But she will care for me, in her way; these hands will be the gentle ministrants of every comfort I can taste. I know the being I seek to entwine with my own will bring me a solace—a charity—a purity—to which, of myself, I am a stranger.’

Suddenly Caroline was troubled; her lip quivered.

‘What flutters my dove?’ asked Moore, as she nestled to and then uneasily shrank from him.