Part 35 (1/2)
”You been thinkin' o' London,” I ventured, hoping, if might be, for a moment longer to distract him.
”But not with longing,” he answered, quickly. ”I left no one to wish me back. Not one heart to want me--not one to wait for me! And I do not wish myself back. I was a dissipated fellow there, and when I turned my back on that old life, when I set out to find a place where I might atone for those old sins, 'twas without regret, and 'twas for good and all. This,” he said, rising, ”is my land. This,” he repeated, glancing north and south over the dripping coast, the while stretching wide his arms, ”is now my land! I love it for the opportunity it gave me. I love it for the new man it has made me. I have forgotten the city. I love _this_ life! And I love you, Davy,” he cried, clapping his arm around me, ”and I love----”
He stopped.
”I knows, zur,” said I, in an awed whisper, ”whom you love.”
”Bessie,” said he.
”Ay, Bessie.”
There was now no turning away. My recent fears had been realized. I must tell him what was in my heart.
”Mary Tot says, zur,” I gasped, ”that love leads t' h.e.l.l.”
He started from me.
”I would not have my sister,” I continued, ”go t' h.e.l.l. For, zur,” said I, ”she'd be wonderful lonesome there.”
”To h.e.l.l?” he asked, hoa.r.s.ely.
”Oh, ay!” I groaned. ”T' the flames o' h.e.l.l!”
”'Tis not true!” he burst out, with a radiant smile. ”I know it!
Love--my love for her--has led me nearer heaven than ever I hoped to be!”
I troubled no more. Here was a holy pa.s.sion. Child that I was--ignorant of love and knowing little enough of evil--I still perceived that this love was surely of the good G.o.d Himself. I feared no more for my dear sister. She would be safe with him.
”You may love my sister,” said I, ”an you want to. You may have her.”
He frowned in a troubled way.
”Ay,” I repeated, convinced, ”you may have my dear sister. I'm not afraid.”
”Davy,” he said, now so grave that my heart jumped, ”you give her to the man I am.”
”I'm not carin',” I replied, ”what you was.”
”You do not know.”
Apprehension grappled with me. ”I'm not wantin' t' know,” I protested.
”Come, zur,” I pleaded, ”leave us go home.”
”Once, Davy,” he said, ”I told you that I had been wicked.”
”You're not wicked now.”