“What can be wrong about my telling you that I love you?”
“I cannot tell you all the secrets of my life, but let this satisfy you: that it would be wrong for me to tell you that I loved you, and such a thing can never be.”
“I wonder why fate is so bitterly cruel to me,” said Ross, in a sad voice.
“Perhaps, Mr. Graves, if the veil were lifted that hides the life secrets of some of us there would be heartaches revealed even greater than our own, though God knows I do pity you, and will acknowledge that your sorrow is a great one and almost too hard to bear. I can sympathize with you, for my own life has its waste places, but I try to look over them and keep my eyes as much as I can on the flowery hills beyond. There are few 276 lives without clouds, and no cloud but that will at some time break and show the silver lining.”
Ross shook his head and turned sadly away.
“I know,” he said, looking toward the western sky, “I do not expect that you could love me or that you would stoop——”
“Stop,” she said, in a firm, low voice. “It is not that I would need to stoop. I am not above you in any respect.”
“But, tell me truly, Miss Elsworth,” Ross said, as he turned and grasped her hand, holding it firmly in his own, “tell me, is it because I am disgraced?”
“No, for in my eyes you are as free from sin as any man I know.”
“I thank you for those words,” he said, releasing her hand. “It is a great comfort to know that you respect me.”