the sweet, low, trembling voice, and with downcast eyes,--

"If I were to become the wife of any one, it is your wife I would like
to be; and I have thought of it. Oh, I cannot be a hypocrite with you
when I see the misery I have brought you! And I have thought of giving
up all my present life, and all the wishes and dreams I have cherished,
and going away and living the simple life of a woman. And under whose
guidance would I try that rather than yours? You made me think. But it
is all a dream--a fancy. It is impossible. It would only bring misery to
you and to me--"

"But why--but why?" he eagerly exclaimed; and there was a new light in
his face. "Gertrude, if you can say so much, why not say all? What are
obstacles? There can be none if you have the fiftieth part of the love
for me that I have for you! Obstacles!" And he laughed with a strange
laugh.

She looked up in his face.

"And would it be so great a happiness for you? That would make up for
all the trouble I have brought you?" she said, wistfully; and his answer
was to take both her hands in his, and there was such a joy in his heart
that he could not speak at all. But she only shook her head somewhat
sadly, and withdrew her hands, and sat down again by the table.

"It is wrong of me even to think of it," she said. "Today I might say
'yes,' and to-morrow? You might inspire me with courage now; and
afterward--I should only bring you further pain. I do not know myself. I
could not be sure of myself. How could I dare drag you into such a
terrible risk? It is better as it is. The pain you are suffering will
go. You will come to call me your friend; and you will thank me that I
refused. Perhaps I shall suffer a little too," she added, and once more
she rather timidly looked up into his face. "You do not know the
fascination of seeing your scheme of life, that you have been dreaming
about, just suddenly put before you for acceptance; and you want all
your common sense to hold back. But I know it will be better--better for
both of us. You must believe me."

"I do not believe you, and I will not believe you," said he, with a
proud light in his eyes; "and now you have said so much I am not going
to take any refusal at all. Not now. Gertrude, I have courage for both
of us: when you are timid, you will take my hand. Say it, then! A word
only! You have already said all but that!"

He seemed scarcely the same man who had appealed to her with the wild
eyes and the h