uppose she wants?"

"Mr. Silk says she wants you to marry your cousin."

"Told you that, did he?" His eyes were on her face, but it had not
changed colour; her clear gaze yet baffled him. "Well, and what do you
say?"

"Must I say anything?"

"Well"--he gave a short, impatient laugh--"we can hardly pretend--can
we?--that it doesn't concern you."

"I do not pretend it," she answered. "I am yours, to deal with as you
will; to dismiss when you choose. I can never owe you anything but
gratitude."

"Ruth, will you marry me?"

He said it with the accent of passion, stepping half a pace forward,
holding out his hands. She winced and drew back a little; she, too,
holding out her hands, but with the palms turned downward. Upon that
movement his passion hung fire. (Was it actual passion, or rather a
surrender to the inevitable--to a feeling that it had all happened
fatally, beyond escape, that now--beautiful, wonderful as she had
grown--he could never do without her? At any rate their hands,
outstretched thus, did not meet.)

"You talked lightly just now," she said, and with the smallest catch in
her voice, "of vows made in haste. You forget your vow that after three
years I should go back--go back whence you took me--and choose."

"No," he corrected. "My promise was that you should go back and
announce your choice. If some few months are to run, nothing hinders
your choosing here and now. I do not ask you to marry me before the
term is out, but only to make up your mind. You hear what I offer?"

She swept him a low, obedient bow. "I do, and it is much to me, my dear
lord. Oh, believe me, it is very much! . . . But I do not think I want
to be your wife--thus."

"You could not love me? Is that what you mean?"

"Not love you?" Her voice, sweet and low, choked on the words.
"Not love you?" she managed to repeat. "You, who came to me as a god--
to me, a poor tavern drudge--who lifted me from the cart, the scourge;
lifted me out of ignorance, out of shame? Lord--love--doubt what you
will of me--but not that!"

"You do love me? Then why--" He paused, wondering. The impalpable
barrier hung like a mist about his wits.

"Did Andromeda not love Perseus, think you?" she asked lightly,
recovering her smile, albeit her eyes were dewy.

"I am dull, then," he confessed. "I certainly do not understand."

"You came to me as a god when you saved me. Shall you come to me as
less by an inch when you stoop t