He had, as one might say, been eye to eye with this girl for fifteen years: he had told his love for her in a thousand little ways, as the ant builds its heap to a pyramid that becomes a thousand times greater than itself.

He had followed her footsteps, he had fetched and carried, he had served afar off, he had ministered within the gates.

He had, unknown to her, watched like the keeper of the house over all who came and went, neither envious nor over-zealous, neither intrusive nor neglectful; leaving here a word and there an act to prove himself, above all, the friend whom she could trust, and, in all, the lover whom she might wake to know and reward.

He had waited with patience, hoping stubbornly that she might come to put her hand in his one day.
Long ago he would have left the island to widen his knowledge, earn experience in his craft, or follow a career in the army--he had been an expert gunner when he served in the artillery four years ago--and hammer out fame upon the anvils of fortune in England or in France; but he had stayed here that he might be near her.

His love had been simple, it had been direct, and wise in its consistent reserve.