'I love you, and you love me, Cytherea!' he whispered.

She did not deny it; and all seemed well. The gentle sounds around
them from the hills, the plains, the distant town, the adjacent
shore, the water heaving at their side, the kiss, and the long kiss,
were all 'many a voice of one delight,' and in unison with each
other.

But his mind flew back to the same unpleasant thought which had been
connected with the resolution he had broken a minute or two earlier.
'I could be a slave at my profession to win you, Cytherea; I would
work at the meanest, honest trade to be near you--much less claim
you as mine; I would--anything. But I have not told you all; it is
not this; you don't know what there is yet to tell. Could you
forgive as you can love?' She was alarmed to see that he had become
pale with the question.

'No--do not speak,' he said. 'I have kept something from you, which
has now become the cause of a great uneasiness. I had no right--to
love you; but I did it. Something forbade--'

'What?' she exclaimed.

'Something forbade me--till the kiss--yes, till the kiss came; and
now nothing shall forbid it! We'll hope in spite of all. . . I
must, however, speak of this love of ours to your brother. Dearest,
you had better go indoors whilst I meet him at the station, and
explain everything.'