He laid an open letter in her lap, and, glancing down, she saw that it was signed by the name of one of the best known pulpit orators in the land, and that it spoke in highest terms of the young man whom it named as "my well-loved friend."
"It is also your right to know that I have always tried to live a pure and honorable life. I have never told any woman but you that I loved her--except an elderly cousin with whom I thought I was in love when I was nineteen. She cured me of it by laughing at me, and I have been heart-whole ever since."
She raised her eyes from reading the letter.
"You have all these, and I have nothing." She spread out her hands helplessly. "It must seem strange to you that I am in this situation. It does to me. It is awful."
She put her hands over her eyes and shuddered.
"It is to save you from it all that I have come." He leaned over and spoke tenderly, "Darling!"
"Oh, wait!" She caught her breath as if it hurt her, and put out her hand to stop him, "Wait! You must not say any more until I have told you all about it. Perhaps when I have told you, you will think about me as others do, and I shall have to run from you."
"Can you not trust me?" he reproached her.
"Oh, yes, I can trust you, but you may no longer trust me, and that I cannot bear."
"I promise you solemnly that I will believe every word you say."
"Ah, but you will think I do not know, and that it is your duty to give me into the hands of my enemies."
"That I most solemnly vow I will never do," he said earnestly. "You need not fear to tell me anything. But listen, tell me this one thing: in the eyes of God, is there any reason, physical, mental, or spiritual, why you should not become my wife?"
She looked him clearly in the eyes.
"None at all."
"Then I am satisfied to take you without hearing your story until afterwards."
"But I am not satisfied. If I am to see distrust come into your eyes, it must be now, not afterwards."
"Then tell it quickly."
He put out his hand and took hers firmly into his own, as if to help her in her story.