“Andrew,” she said, “I am going to do an unusual thing, but you are not like other men, and will not misunderstand! I know you now—know you as far above other men as the clouds are above this heath!”
“Oh, no, no, ma'am!” protested Andrew.
“Hear me out, Andrew,” she interrupted—then paused a little.
“Tell me,” she resumed, “ought we not to love best the best we know?”
“Surely, ma'am!” he answered, uncomfortable, but not anticipating what was on the way.
“Andrew, you are the best I know! I have said it! I do not care what the world thinks; you are more to me than all the worlds! If you will take me, I am yours.”
She looked him in the face with the feeling that she had done a brave and a right thing.
Andrew stood stock-still.
“Me, ma'am!” he gasped, and grew pale—then red as a foggy sun. But he made scarcely a moment's pause.
“It's a God-like thing you have done, ma'am!” he said. “But I can not make the return it deserves. From the heart of my heart I thank you. I can say no more.”