The Squire saw it, and began
to speak again in the same low measured voice, as though he groped
his way along, from point to point. He sat with his eyes on the
floor, his hands loosely clasped before him.
'I don't, of course, dare to ask you to say--at once--if you will be
my wife. I dread to ask it--for I am tolerably certain that you
would still say no. But if only now you would say, "I will go on
with my work here--I will help a man who is weak where I am
strong--I will show him new points of view--give him new reasons for
living--"'
Elizabeth could only just check the sobs in her throat. The sad
humility of the words pierced her heart.
The Squire raised himself a little, and spoke more firmly.
'Why should there be any change yet awhile? Only stay with us. Use
my land--use me and all I possess--for the country--for what Desmond
would have helped in--and done. Show me what to do. I shall do it
ill. But what matter? Every little helps. "We have our backs to the
wall." I have the power to give _you_ power.
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