"I was a fool. My friends discouraged it, but I find I cannot live without you."
This sounded well to poor Edith, but she said half sadly:
"Perhaps your friends are right. You cannot afford to marry me."
"But I cannot give you up," said Gus with much show of feeling. "What would my life be without you? I admit to you that my friends are opposed to my marriage, but am I to blight my life for them? Am I, who have seen the best of New York for years, to give up the loveliest girl I have ever seen in it? I cannot and I will not," concluded Gus tragically.
"And are you willing to give up all for me?" said Edith feelingly, her glorious eyes becoming gentle and tender.
"Yes, if you will give up all for me," said Gus languishingly, taking her hand and drawing her toward him.
Edith did not resist now, but leaned her head on his shoulder with the blessed sense of rest and at least partial security. Her cruelly harassed heart and burdened, threatened life could welcome even such poor shelter as Gus Elliot offered. The spring evening was mild and breathless, and its hush and peace seemed to accord with her feelings. There was no ecstatic thrilling of her heart in the divine rapture of mutual and open recognition of love, for no such love existed on her part. It was only a languid feeling of contentment—moon-lighted with sentiment, not sun-lighted with joy—that she had found some one who would not leave her to labor and struggle alone.
"Gus," she said pathetically, "we are very poor; we have nothing. We are almost desperate from want. Think twice ere you engage yourself to a girl so situated. Are you able to thus burden yourself?"
Gus thought these words led the way to the carrying out of Van Dam's instructions, for he said eagerly:
"I know how you are situated. I learned all from Zell's letter to Van Dam, but our hearts only cling the closer to you, and you must let me take care of you at once. If you will only consent to a secret marriage I can manage it."