"I esteem you, Mr. Craven," she said, in a low voice, "but I have never thought of marrying again."
"Then think of it now, I entreat you. My happiness depends upon it—think of that. When I first discovered that I loved you, I tried hard to bury the secret in my own breast, but—but it became too strong for me, and now I place my fate in your hands."
By this time he had edged round to her side, and lifted her hand gently in his, and pressed it to his lips.
"Do not drive me to despair," he murmured softly.
"I—I never thought you loved me so much, Mr. Craven," said Mrs. Hunter, in agitation.
"Because I tried to hide it."
"Can you not still be my friend and give up such thoughts?"
"Never, never!" he answered, shaking his head. "If you deny my suit, I shall at once leave this village, and bury my sorrow and desolation of heart in some wild prairie scene, far from the haunts of men, where I shall linger out the remnant of my wretched life."
"Don't—pray don't, Mr. Craven," she said, in a tone of distress.
But, feeling that surrender was at hand, he determined to carry the fortress at once. He sank down on his knees, and, lifting his eyes, said: