"You must not ask me that, Bella," and his mouth closed firmly.
"'Trust me all in all, or not at all,'" she quoted.
"Then I trust you not at all."
"Oh!" She drew back with a cry of pain like a wounded animal.
In a moment he was on his knees, holding her hands to his beating heart. "My dearest, if I could I would. But I can't, and I am unable just now to give you the reason. Save that I am a journalist, and your devoted lover, you know nothing about me. Later I shall tell you my whole story, and how I am situated. Then you can marry me or not, as you choose."
"I shall marry you, in any case," she said quickly.
"Do you think that I am a poor, weak fool, who demands perfection in a man. Whatever your sins may be, to me you are the man I have chosen to be my husband. We are here, in the corn-fields, and you just now called me Ruth. Then, like Ruth, I can say that 'your people will be my people, and your God will be my God.'"
"Dearest and best," he kissed her ardently, "what have I done to deserve such perfect love? But do not think me so very wicked. It is not myself, so much as another. Then you——"
"Is it a woman?" she asked, drawing back.
Lister caught her to his breast again. "No, you jealous angel, it is not a woman. The thousand pounds I must have, to save—but that is neither here nor there. You must think me but a tardy lover not to carry you off, forwith, and——" he rose, with Bella in his arms—"oh, it's impossible!"