"Yes, sir," said Dora timidly, as he paused for her assent.
"Not 'Yes, sir,' child!" exclaimed the chaplain impatiently. "Don't treat me with this distant respect and timid reverence. I am your lover, your would-be comrade through life, as once through the less earnest battles of war. Call me Frank, and look into my face and smile as I have seen you smile on Karl."
A quick smile dimpled Dora's cheek, and passed.
"Not Karl, please, sir."
"Dora, if you say 'sir' to me again, I'll kiss you."
"Please not, Mr. Brown," said Dora demurely, "until you quite understand me."
"Well then, let me quite understand you very quick; for I think I shall exact the penalty, even without further offence."
"But I cannot promise,—I cannot be what you said," stammered Dora, half terrified, half confused.
"Nay, darling,—I am going to always call you that, as expressive both of name and nature,—it is you who do not quite understand either yourself or me. I do not expect, or even wish, you to profess a love for me as ardent, open, and pronounced as my own: that were to make you other than the modest and delicately reserved maiden I have loved so long. All I ask you to feel is, that you can trust yourself to my guidance through life; that you can place your future in my hands, believing me capable of shaping it aright; that you can promise to tread with me the path I have selected, sure that it shall be my care to remove from it all thorns, all obstacles that mortal power may control, and that my arms shall bear you tenderly over the rough places I cannot make smooth for you.
"Dora, years ago I resolved that you should be my wife, God and you consenting. I have waited until I thought you old enough to decide calmly and wisely; but, through these years of waiting, I have cherished a hope, almost a certainty, of success, that has struck deep roots among the very foundations of my life. You will not tear it away! Dora, you do not know me: you cannot guess at the ardor or the power of a love I have never dared wholly to reveal even to myself. Trust it, Dora: it cannot but make you happy. Give yourself to me, dear child; and I will account to God for the precious charge."