"It's your soul that I love," she said. "It's rich, and full of honour."
Her look, the ring in her voice, made him catch his breath.
"What!—you don't mean you'd marry me—as I am!"
"Yes."
Wild joy sprang up within him. But he choked it down.
"No—No! You couldn't. You haven't thought. You couldn't give up all the richness of your life, all your friends, for my poverty, my friendlessness. And this isn't all—nor the worst. There's my disgrace." He paused a moment before the great fact that must always be a barrier between them. "Do you realise, Helen," he went on, "that I can never clear myself. To do that would be to destroy the people of St. Christopher's. I can never do that. I never will."
She was thoughtful for several moments. "No, you never can," she said slowly. Then a glow came into her face, and she added suddenly in a tone that vibrated through him:
"But I shall marry you anyhow!"
He caught her hands. "God bless you!" he said huskily.
He shook his head slowly, with pale resolution. "But no. I love you too much, honour you too much, to drag you from your place—to let you marry a criminal!"