"No." She was aware of his concern, of the self-effacing thoughtfulness of his offer. He was a good boy, decent and kind. He deserved better than he was getting.... She bit her lips and vowed that, giving no love, she would make him happy. She must make him happy.

"You know why I've come, Ruth," he said. "It has seemed a long time to wait--since last night. You know why I've come?"

"Yes."

"You have--thought about me?"

"Yes."

He stepped forward eagerly. "You look so unhappy, so tired. It hasn't been worrying you like this? I couldn't bear to think it had.... I--I don't want you ever worried or tired, but always--glad.... I've been walking up and down outside for an hour. Couldn't stay away.... Ruth, you haven't been out of my mind since last night--since yesterday morning. I've had time to think about you.... I'm beginning to realize how much you mean to me. I'll never realize it fully--but it will come to me more every day, and every day I shall love you more than I did the day before--if your answer can be yes. ..." He turned away his head and said, "I'm afraid to ask...."

"I will marry you," she said, in a dead voice. She felt cold, numb. Her body seemed without sensation, but her mind was sharply clear. She wanted to scream, but she held herself.

His face showed glad, relieved surprise. The shine of his eyes accused her.... She was making capital of his love--for a great and worthy purpose--but none the less making capital of it. She was sorry for him, bitterly sorry for herself. He came forward eagerly, with arms outstretched to receive her, but she could not endure that--now. She could not endure his touch, his caress.

"Not now.... Not yet," she said, holding up her hand as though to ward him off. "You mustn't."

His face fell and he stopped short. He was hurt--surprised. He did not understand, did not know what to make of her att.i.tude.

"Wait," she said, pitifully. "Oh, be patient with me.... I will marry you. I will be a good--a faithful wife to you.... But you must be patient with me. Let me have time.... Last night--and all to-day-have been--hard.... I'm not myself. Can't you see?..."

"Don't you love me?" he asked.

"I--I've said I would marry you," she replied. Then she could restrain herself no longer. "But let it be soon--soon," she cried, and throwing herself on the sofa she burst into tears.

Bonbright did not know what to do. He had never seen a woman cry so before.... Did girls always act this way when they became engaged? Was it the usual thing, or was something wrong with Ruth? He stood by, dumbly waiting, unhappy when he knew he should be happy; troubled when he knew there should be no cloud in his sky; vaguely apprehensive when he knew he should be looking into the future with eyes confident of finding only happiness there.

He wanted to pick her up and comfort her in his arms. He could do it, he could hold her close and safe, for she was so small. But he dared not touch her. She had forbidden it; her manner had forbidden it more forcefully than her words. He came closer, and his hand hovered over her hair, her hair that he would have loved to press with his lips-he, he did not dare.

"Ruth," he said.... "Ruth!"

Suddenly she sat up and faced him; forced herself to speak; compelled herself to rise to this thing that she had done and must see through.

"I'm--ashamed," she said, irrepressible sobs interrupting her. "It's silly, isn't it--but--but it's hard to KNOW. It's for so long--so LONG!"

"Yes," he said, "that's the best part of it.... I shall have you always."

Always. He should have her always! It was no sentence for a month or a year, but for life. She was tying herself to this boy until death should free her.... She looked at him, and thanked G.o.d that he was as he was, young, decent, clean, capable of loving her and cherishing her.... For her sake she was glad it was he, but his very attributes accused her. She was accepting these beautiful gifts and was giving in return spurious wares. For love she would give pretense of love. ...

Yet if he had been other than he was, if he had been old, seeking her youth as some men might seek it, steeped in experience to satiety as some rich man might have been, she knew she could not have gone through with it. To such a man she could not have given herself--even for the Cause.... Bonbright made his own duping a possibility.

"I--I sha'n't act this way again," she said, trying to smile. "You needn't be afraid.... It's just nerves."

"Poor kid!" he said, softly, but even yet he dared not touch her.

"You want me? You're very, very sure you want me? How do you know? I may not be what you think I am. Maybe I'm different. Are you sure, Bonbright?"

"It's the only thing in the world I am sure of," he said.

"And you'll be good to me?... You'll be patient with me, and gentle?

Oh, I needn't ask. I know you will. I know you're good...."

"I love you," was his reply, and she deemed it a sufficient answer.

"Then," she said, "let's not wait. There's no need to wait, is there?

Can't it be right away?"

His face grew radiant. "You mean it, Ruth?"

"Yes," she said.

"A month?"

"Sooner."

"A week?"

"Sooner.... Sooner."

"To-morrow? You couldn't?... You don't mean--TO-MORROW?"

She nodded, for she was unable to speak

"Sweetheart," he cried, and again held out his arms.

She shook her head and drew back. "It's been so--so quick," she said.

"And to-morrow comes so soon.... Not till then. I'll be your wife then--your WIFE."

"To-morrow morning? I will come to-morrow morning? Can it be then?"

"Yes."

"I--I will see to everything. We'll be married, and then we will go away--somewhere. Where would you like to go, Ruth?"

"Anywhere.... I don't care. Anywhere."

"It 'll be my secret," he said, in his young blindness. "We'll start out--and you won't know where we're going. I sha'n't tell you. I'll pick out the best place in the world, if I can find it, and you won't know where we're going till we get there.... Won't that be bully?... I hate to go now, dear, but you're all out of sorts--and I'll have a heap of things to do--to get ready. So will you." He stopped and looked at her pleadingly, but she could not give him what his eyes asked; she could not give him her lips to-night.... He waited a moment, then, very gently, he took her hand and touched it with his lips.

"I'm patient," he said, softly. "You see how patient I am.... I can wait... when waiting will bring me so much.... At twelve o'clock?

That's the swell hour," he laughed. "Shall I drag along a bishop or will an ordinary minister do?"

She tried to smile in response.

"Good night, dear," he said, and raised her hand again to his lips.

"Good night."

"Is that all?"

"All."