nt down, that seemed to win me. What was it that came over me?
What subtle power is it by which one nature draws another without any
apparent or audible summons? I do not know; but this I know, that
as he said the words I have just written down a floodgate within me
seemed raised, and with a mighty rush my spirit bounded toward him.
And yet I did not move.

"Forgive you?" I said. "Yes, a thousand times!"

He looked up, said, "Thank you!" very softly, and turned to the door.
When he reached it he stopped, turned again, and came up to me. "Will
you give me your hand in token of forgiveness and friendship?" he
said.

I said nothing, but held out my hand. He took it in both of his, and
then in a moment more my arms were about his neck, and our lips had
met. He kissed me again and again, held me very close for an instant,
and then, untwining my arms from their hold, he abruptly left
the room. That was three hours ago, and I have sat here thinking,
thinking, ever since. What does it all mean? Writing it out has helped
me, as I thought it would. Two things have become clear to me: I am
quite conscious that I have sought Mr. Lawrence at least as much as he
has me. I have always believed it to be as natural for a woman who was
once freed from the foolish prejudices of education and tradition to
hold out her hand to any one who attracted her as for a man to seek a
woman. Now I have proved it to be true. He does attract me. Why deny
it, either to myself or him? I do not, I will not. This I see and know
to be true. The other thing which seems clear to me is, that he is
only drawn by one side of his nature--that he does not want to love
me, perhaps can only half love me. Then, if that be so, I have done
wrong to show him my feelings. With his ideas about women, he would
feel it to be almost unmanly to fold his arms on his breast if a woman
put hers about his neck, as I did; and I fear I forced my love upon
him. I feel as I should think a man feels who has taken an unfair
advantage of a woman's fancy for him, and got from her graces and
favors to which her whole heart does not assent. I am not ashamed of
loving him: bear me witness, little book, I am not ashamed of loving
him, nor indeed of telling him so; only I would not "betray his will,"
as he said this afternoon. No, no: if he comes to me, it must be with
a whole and willing heart. Now that's resolved, what next? Write
to him of course, and tell him I am sorry to have led him