They passed out slowly through the garden gate, and walked down the
square, away from where I was standing. The servant noticed me by one
significant look, as they went on. Her young mistress did not appear
to see me. At first, my agitation was so violent that I was perfectly
incapable of following them a single step. In a few moments I
recovered myself; and hastened to overtake them, before they arrived
at a more frequented part of the neighbourhood.

As I approached her side, Margaret turned suddenly and looked at me,
with an expression of anger and astonishment in her eyes. The next
instant, her lovely face became tinged all over with a deep, burning
blush; her head drooped a little; she hesitated for a moment; and then
abruptly quickened her pace. Did she remember me? The mere chance that
she did, gave me confidence: I--

--No! I cannot write down the words that I said to her. Recollecting
the end to which our fatal interview led, I recoil at the very thought
of exposing to others, or of preserving in any permanent form, the
words in which I first confessed my love. It may be pride--miserable,
useless pride--which animates me with this feeling: but I cannot
overcome it. Remembering what I do, I am ashamed to write, ashamed to
recall, what I said at my first interview with Margaret Sherwin. I can
give no good reason for the sensations which now influence me; I
cannot analyse them; and I would not if I could.

Let it be enough to say that I risked everything, and spoke to her. My
words, confused as they were, came hotly, eagerly, and eloquently from
my heart. In the space of a few minutes, I confessed to her all, and
more than all, that I have here painfully related in many pages. I