He broke the silence.

“I should poorly show the trust that I have in the dear one who will evermore be as dear to me as now”—­and the deep earnestness with which he said it at once strengthened me and made me weep—­ “if, after her assurance that she is not free to think of my love, I urged it.  Dear Esther, let me only tell you that the fond idea of you which I took abroad was exalted to the heavens when I came home.  I have always hoped, in the first hour when I seemed to stand in any ray of good fortune, to tell you this.  I have always feared that I should tell it you in vain.  My hopes and fears are both fulfilled to-night.  I distress you.  I have said enough.”

Something seemed to pass into my place that was like the angel he thought me, and I felt so sorrowful for the loss he had sustained!  I wished to help him in his trouble, as I had wished to do when he showed that first commiseration for me.

“Dear Mr. Woodcourt,” said I, “before we part to-night, something is left for me to say.  I never could say it as I wish—­I never shall—­but—­”

I had to think again of being more deserving of his love and his affliction before I could go on.

“—­I am deeply sensible of your generosity, and I shall treasure its remembrance to my dying hour.  I know full well how changed I am, I know you are not unacquainted with my history, and I know what a noble love that is which is so faithful.  What you have said to me could have affected me so much from no other lips, for there are none that could give it such a value to me.  It shall not be lost.  It shall make me better.”

He covered his eyes with his hand and turned away his head.  How could I ever be worthy of those tears?

“If, in the unchanged intercourse we shall have together—­in tending Richard and Ada, and I hope in many happier scenes of life —­you ever find anything in me which you can honestly think is better than it used to be, believe that it will have sprung up from to-night and that I shall owe it to you.  And never believe, dear dear Mr. Woodcourt, never believe that I forget this night or that while my heart beats it can be insensible to the pride and joy of having been beloved by you.”

He took my hand and kissed it.  He was like himself again, and I felt still more encouraged.

“I am induced by what you said just now,” said I, “to hope that you have succeeded in your endeavour.”

“I have,” he answered.  “With such help from Mr. Jarndyce as you who know him so well can imagine him to have rendered me, I have succeeded.”

“Heaven bless him for it,” said I, giving him my hand; “and heaven bless you in all you do!”

“I shall do it better for the wish,” he answered; “it will make me enter on these new duties as on another sacred trust from you.”

“Ah!  Richard!” I exclaimed involuntarily, “What will he do when you are gone!”