"Nor have I, nor do I," replied the doctor, with a flushed brow. "I love you—I love you honorably; I would make you my wife; I am incapable of insulting any woman."
Tears sprang to Rose's eyes as she answered, "Forgive me; I can not explain to you why I am so sensitive to a fancied insult."
"Nor need you," replied the doctor, as an expression of acute pain passed over his fine features; "Rose, let me stand between you and harm; be my wife—my own, dear, honored wife."
"Oh no, no, no!" gasped Rose, retreating as he approached her; "you do not know—or you would not. Sir!" and the color receded from her lip and cheek—"that boy!—God knows I believed myself an honored wife."
"Rose," again repeated the doctor, without heeding her confession, "will you be my wife?"
"I can not," said Rose, moved to tears by his generous confidence, "that would be sin—I have no heart to give you. Though all is mystery, though I never more may see him, I love the father of my boy."
The doctor rose, and walked the little cabin.
"Is this your final answer?" asked he, returning to the side of Rose.
"I can give no other, much as I thank you for this proof of your—" and here her voice again failed her.