“Forgive me,” he said, “but I have a heart that 309 would appreciate a world of love if it were given me—a love that would shield you from the faintest touch of the world’s rude blast and shelter you as the mother bird covers her tender nestlings.”
Blanche Elsworth’s hands were clasped more firmly together, and the strong, brave woman was trembling in every limb; but her voice was firm and had lost none of its musical sound as she spoke, though her face was full of sadness. “Scott Wilmer,” she said, “I wish these words had never been spoken to me. Not because they sound unpleasant, for there is a beauty in them that I have never dreamed of. Through years of obscurity I have watched your noble character; I have been a witness to your joys and your sorrows. I have known of your bearing with patience the hardest trials of life, and I have said that not in all the world is there another man like Scott Wilmer. You were a stranger to me, and I looked on you and worshipped your character.”
“I cannot understand you.”
“I am speaking but the truth. I watched you through your years of patient endurance, doing that which few men on earth would do, and when I stepped from my obscure position and entered the great world where you dwelt I still looked on and worshipped, and as the clouds grew thicker and thicker about you my admiration grew stronger. I will not deny the truth, Scott Wilmer, I had no right to love the man, but I had a right to admire and respect the true heroic character, and this I did.”
“My darling,” he said, “do you mean what you say? 310 Dare I hope that you will be mine, and is there no barrier between us?”
“Yes, there is a barrier between us, for, though I love you, there is no hope for us.”
“No hope for love like ours?”
“No, no; and when I have told you why, you will be satisfied to leave me.”
“I can see nothing to separate us—nothing but death.”
“Scott, you have been deceived once, and I cannot deceive you again.”