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 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 my 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!”

“I am not required to go yet; I would not desert him, dear Miss Summerson, even if I were.”

One other thing I felt it needful to touch upon, before he left me. I knew that I should not be worthier of the love I could not take, if I reserved it.

“Mr. Woodcourt,” said I, “you will be glad to know from my lips before I say Good night, that in the future, which is clear and bright