"Viola, I have something important to say to you. I am much disturbed over your renewed determination to go away. In the face of the great work which is yours to do I do not understand how you can think of dropping it in mid-air, so to speak, to go away on an errand which is essentially selfish--as well as most unwise and full of danger. I don't understand this renewal of restlessness on your part."
The girl's face was clouded, for she had just learned of Serviss's departure and was deeply hurt. She drew the pin from her hat and silently laid it on the table, and in this gesture was something of the resolution of the warrior who divests himself of his cumbering plumed helmet. "It's very simple," she curtly answered. "I want to get away from here for a while. I can't endure my life here any longer."
"Why not? Why are you so unhappy?" he asked, with an accent of stern reproof. "It is a beautiful land--you are among your own people, you have your music, your work, and you are young. You ought to be happy."
"That's just it," she interrupted, quite fiercely. "It is because I am young that I want to do something. It seems to me to-day as if I were losing the best years of my life here in this little town, and I want to get away. I must get away!"
"Does your work with me seem of no value?" His glowing eyes sought hers. He approached her. "Do I weary you? Am I an irritation?"
Her face softened. "No, you have helped me very much. I couldn't have endured this life without you and my music; but this other life--these sittings--I can't go on with them."
"Don't you feel that you must? Don't you feel their enormous importance?"
"No, I don't! I begin to doubt myself--everybody. What have they done for you, for anybody, that I should sacrifice nay whole life to them and their wishes?"
"They brought me healing; they made Dr. Randall happy in his last years; they are a daily solace to your mother; they will comfort millions through our agency." He bent towards her. "Viola, my girl, God has designed for you and me a closer union than even this. You say I have comforted you, that I have made life happier for you. I have come to-night to tell you that I love you, and that I want you to be my wife."
The girl recoiled from the touch of his hand, uttering a low cry of surprise, of question.
He went on: "Yes, I have grown to care for you beyond any other human being. You are my staff, my stay. God sent you to my spiritual healing. I should have gone mad but for you." He bent upon her a look of passion and command. "You must not think of going away. You belong to me." Her face warned him that his appeal was being misinterpreted, and he added, quickly: "I know this comes to you abruptly, and yet you must have felt my love, you must have read my heart."