"Our last meeting; our last parting, Jane!" he whispered from the depth of his full heart.
He took time to answer. "I would willingly say No; I would _promise_ it to you, Jane, but that I doubt myself. I know that it lies with me; and I know that if God will help me, I may be able to----"
He broke down. He could not go on. Jane bent her head towards him. Drawing it to his shoulder, he continued:
"I have not been able to pull up here, despite the resolutions I have made from time to time. I was one of a fast set of men at Islip, and--somehow--they were stronger than I was. In Canada it may be different. I promise you, my darling, that I will strive to make it so. Do you think this is no lesson to me?"
"If not, we may never see each other again in this world."
"Only in Heaven. The mistakes we make here may be righted there."
"And will it be _nothing_ to you, never to see me again here?--no sorrow or pain?"
"_No sorrow or pain!_" Valentine echoed the words out of the very depths of woe. Even then the pain within him was almost greater than he could bear.
They sat on in silence, with their aching hearts. Words fail in an hour of anguish such as this. An hour that comes perhaps but once in a lifetime; to some of us, never. Jane's face lay nestled against his shoulder; her hand was in his clasp. Val's tears were falling; he was weak yet from his recent illness; Jane's despair was beyond tears.
We were in the height and swing of forfeits when Valentine and Jane came in. They could not remain in the arbour all night, you see, romantic and lovely though it might be to sit in the moonlight. Jane said she must be going home; her mother had charged her not to be late.
When she came down with her things on, I, remembering what she had asked me, took my hat and waited for her in the hall. But Valentine came out with her.
"Thank you all the same, Johnny," she said to me. And I went back to the forfeits.
They went off together, Jane's arm within his--their last walk, perhaps, in this world. But it seemed that they could not talk any more than they did in the garden, and went along for the most part in silence. Just before turning into Brook Lane they met Tom Chandler--he who was doing so much for Valentine in this emigration matter. He had come from Islip to spend a last hour with his cousin.