Chapter 33 - Lizzie Leigh

In the eye of God, perhaps she does. He is the judge, we are not. Oh, she said with a sudden burst, will thee? I've thought so well of you. Don't go and make me think you cruel and hard. Goodness is not goodness unless there is mercy and tenderness with it. There's your mother, who's been nearly heartbroken, now full of rejoicing over her child. Think of your mother. I do think of her, said he. I remember the promise I gave her last night. Thou shalt give me time. I would do right in time. I never think it o'er in quiet, but I will do what is right and fitting never fear. Thou hast spoken out very plain to me and misdoubted me, Susan. I love thee so that thy words cut me. If I did hang back a bit for making sudden promises, it was because not even for love of thee would I say what I was not feeling. And at first I could not feel all at once as thou wouldst have me. But I'm not cruel and hard, for if I had been, I shouldn't have aggrieved as I have done. He made as if he were going away, and indeed he did feel he would rather think it over in quiet. But Susan grieved at her incautious words, which had all the appearance of harshness, went a step or two nearer, paused, and then, all over blushes, said, in a low soft whisper, Oh, Will, I beg your pardon, I'm very sorry, won't you forgive me? She who had always drawn back and been so reserved, said this in the very softest manner, with eyes now uplifted beseechingly, now dropped to the ground. Her sweet confusion told more than words could do, and Will turned back, all joyous in his certainty of being beloved, and took her in his arms and kissed her. My own Susan, he said.