He attempted to kiss her, but she held up her hand warningly.
"No," she said, "not till I am your wife. Then I must submit. Till then I belong to myself."
"I have waited a long time," answered this patient suitor, "and I can wait a little longer. When shall we be married?"
"Fix the time yourself," she replied.
"I am to leave Christmas morning by the Napoleon stage for home, and if you wish we may be married Christmas Eve. That will give you four days for preparation."
"As you wish," was the response.
"I know, Rita, you do not love me," said Williams, tenderly.
"You surely do," she interrupted.
"But I also know," he continued, "that I can win your love when you are my wife. I know it, or I would not ask you to marry me. I would not accept your hand if I were not sure that I would soon possess your heart. I will be so loving and tender and your life will be so perfect—so different from anything you have ever known—that you will soon be glad you gave yourself to me. It will not be long, Rita, not long."
"Perhaps you are right," she answered with her lips; but in her heart this girl, who was all tenderness and love, prayed God to strike him dead before Christmas Eve should come.