t-grief at my mother's death, were enough, certainly, to craze any
one. I _was_ crazy; for I only meant to say "Good-bye," but I said,
"Good-bye, Jane; I would give the world to stay, but I must go." I
thought I was going to take her hand; but, instead of that, I took her
face between my own two hands, and turned it up towards mine. First I
kissed her cheeks. "That is for the pink," I said. Then her eyes. "And
that is for the blue. And now I go. You won't care, will you, Jane, that
I kissed you? I shall never trouble you any more; you know you will
never see me again. Good-bye, Jane!"

I grasped her hand tightly and turned away. I thought I was off, but she
did not let go my hand. I paused, as if to hear what she had to say. She
had hitherto spoken but little; she had no need, for I had talked with
all the rapidity of insanity. She tried to speak now, but her voice was
husky, and she almost whispered.

"Why do you go?" she asked.

"Because I _must_, Jane," I replied. "I _must_ go."

"And _why_ must you go?" she asked.

"Oh, Jane, don't ask me why I must go; you wouldn't, if you knew"--

There I stopped. She spoke again. There was a strange tone in her voice,
and I could feel that she was trembling all over.

"_Don't_ go, Henry."

Never before had she called me Henry, and this, together with her strong
emotion and the desire she expressed for me to stay, shot a bright
thought of joy through my soul. It was the very first moment that I
had entertained the possibility of her caring for me. I seemed another
being. Strange thoughts flashed like lightning across my mind. My
resolve was taken.

"Who cares whether I go or stay?" I asked.

"_I_ care," said she.

I took both her hands in mine, and, looking full in her face, said, in a
low voice,--

"Jane, _how much_ do you care?"

"A whole heart full," she replied, in a voice as low and as earnest as
my own.

She was leaning on the fence; I leaned back beside her, for I grew sick
and faint, thinking of the great joy that might be coming.

"Jane," said I, solemnly, "you wouldn't _marry me_, would you?"

"Certainly not," she replied. "How can I, when you have never asked me?"

"Jane," said I, and my voice sounded strange even to myself, "I hope you
are not trifling;--you never would dare, did you know the state I am in,
that I _have_ been in for--oh, so long! But I can't have hidden all my
love. Can't you see how my life almost is hanging upon your answer?
Jan