It is now and here,
Winifred, that I will say what I have to say.'
'And what is that, sir?' said Winifred, much perplexed and disturbed.
'I have to say, Winifred, that the man does not live and never _has_
lived,' said I, with suppressed vehemence, who loved a woman as I
love you.'
Oh, sir! oh, Henry!' returned Winifred, trembling, then standing
still and whiter than the moon. 'And the reason why no man has ever
loved a woman as I love you, Winifred, is because your match, or
anything like your match, has never trod the earth before.'
'Oh, Henry, my dear Henry! you _must_ not say such things to me, your
poor Winifred.'
'But that isn't all that I swore I'd say to you, Winifred.'
'Don't say any more--not to-night, not to-night.'
'What I swore I would ask you, Winifred, is this: Will you be Henry's
wife?'
She gave one hysterical sob, and swayed till she nearly fell on the
sand, and said, while her face shone like a pearl,
'Henry's wife!'
She recovered herself and stood and looked at me; her lips moved, but
I waited in vain--waited in a fever of expectation--for her answer.
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