“Why, you are not afraid to look at me? No one knows you better than I, dear; you can trust me, I think.”
“I know,” she said, her hand fluttering in his; “but isn’t—the train coming?”
“Are you so anxious to have me go?”
Her hand closed tightly around his.
“Because,” laying his bearded cheek against her fair one, “I have something to ask you.”
“To ask me?”
“Yes; are you surprised, can’t you guess? Ruth, will you bless me still further? Will you be my wife, love?”
A strange thrill stole over her; his voice had assumed a bewildering tenderness. “If you really want me,” she replied, with a sobbing laugh.
“Soon?” he persisted.
“Why?”