d enough as it
is. I don't know how I can make you understand, dear."

"I understand more than you think," she replied, becoming calm again,
and letting her hands fall into her lap. "I am going to speak quite
plainly. You love me, Ben--ah, don't I know it!" she cried, with a
sudden burst of passion. "I have seen it in your eyes these many days.
I have heard it in your voice. I have felt it welling out from your
great heart. It has been sweet to me--so sweet! You can not know, no
man ever could know, how that love of yours has filled my soul and my
heart until there was room for nothing else in the whole wide world!"

"You love me!" he said wonderingly.

"If I had not known that, do you think I would have endured a moment's
hesitation after you had seen the objectionable features of my life? Do
you think that if I had the slightest doubts of your love, I could now
understand _why_ you hesitate? But I do, and I honour you for it."

"You love me!" he repeated.

"Yes, yes, Ben dear, I _do_ love you. I love you as I never thought
to be permitted to love. Do you want to know what I did that second day
on the Rock--the day you first showed me what you really were? The day
you told me of your old home and the great tree? It was all so
peaceful, and tender, and comforting, so sweet and pure, that it rested
me. I felt, here is a man at last who could not misunderstand me, could
not be abrupt, and harsh, and cruel. I said to myself, 'He is not
perfect nor does he expect perfection.' I shut my eyes, and then
something choked me, and the tears came. I cried out loud, 'Oh, to be
what I was, to give again what I have not! O God, give me back my heart
as it once was, and let me love!' Yes, Ben dear, I said 'love.' And
then I was not happy any more all day. But God answered that prayer,
Ben dear, and we do love one another now, and that is why we can look
at things together, and see what is best for us both."

"You love me!" he exclaimed for the third time.

"And now, dear, we must talk plainly and calmly. You have seen what my
family is."

"I don't know, Mary, that I can make you understand at all," began
Bennington helplessly. "I can't express it even to myself. Our people
are so different. My training has been so different. All this sort of
thing means so much to us, and so little to you."

"I know exactly," she interrupted. "I have read, and I have lived East.
I can appreciate just how it is. See if I can not read your tho