"Min,"--said I,--"do not come near me! You do not know what has
occurred; how I have sinned; how unworthy I am even to speak to you!"
She would not be denied, however. She came nearer me, and took my hand.
"But, you have repented, Frank,"--she said--"have you not?"
"Oh, my darling!"--I said,--"I _have_ repented; but that will not bring
back the past. I can never hope to be forgiven, I know. I ought not to
speak to you even!"
"Ah, Frank!"--she replied, looking up into my face with her dear grey
eyes, which I had thought I would never look upon again.--"Don't you
remember that sermon the vicar preached last year, when we were in
church together? and, don't you remember the words of his text, how
assuring they ought to be to us?--`Though your sins be as scarlet, they
shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall
be as wool!'"
We were both silent.
Presently, as we sat side by side, Min spoke to me again.
"You will not forget me, Frank, will you?" she asked.
"That is very likely!" I said, laughing in my heart at the idea.
"And you will be good, Frank, will you not?"
"My darling," I said, "with God's grace I shall never from henceforth be
unworthy of your trust in me, either in thought, in word, or, in deed."
"But America is _so_ far off!" she said again after a bit, with a tender
little sigh.
"Not so _very_ far,"--I replied,--"and, though my body may be a few
miles distant from you--for it _is_ only a few miles over the sea--you
may know that my heart will always be with you. I shall be ever
thinking of the time when I can come back and claim you as my own
darling little wife!"
"But I can make no promise, you know, Frank!"--she said.
"Never mind that, darling!"--I replied.--"I am sanguine enough to
believe you will not change towards me if I deserve you by my life; and
_I_ shall never marry anyone else, I know!"
"It is so hard, too, our not being able to write to each other! I will
never be able to know what you are doing!" she said, again.
"Ah, yes, you will!" said I, to encourage her.
As she became despondent, I got sanguine; although, a tear in the soft
grey eyes would have unmanned me at once.
"Miss Pimpernell is going to write to me, you know,"--I continued,--"and
I to her; so you will be made acquainted with all I do and, even, think.
I will write fully to the dear old lady, I promise you!"
She gave me a little Bible and Prayer-book, before we separated, in
which she had written my name; and, told me that she would pray every
night for me, that I might know that her prayers joined mine, and that
both, together, would go up before the Master's throne--notwithstanding
that the Atlantic might roll between us.
She also gave me a likeness of herself, which was of more solace to me
afterwards than I can tell.
A little, simple photograph it was, that has lain before my eyes a
thousand times--in hope, in sadness, in sickness, in disappointment;
and, that has always cheered me and encouraged me in some of the darkest
moments of my life, ever bringing back to my mind the darling words of
the giver.
And then, we parted.
One sobbing sigh, that expressed a world of emotion. One frenzied clasp
of her to my heart, as if I could never let her go; and, our "Good-bye"
was spoken, accomplished:--a good-bye whose recollection was to last!
until I returned to claim her, receiving the welcome that her darling
rosebud lips would gladly utter; and watching, the while, the unspoken
delight that would then, I know, dance from the loving, soul-lit, truth-
telling, grey eyes!