"Hasn't it been tried sufficiently to stand any test? I think so. Ah, dear, come to me—it's been long for me, too." His arms entreated me, but I held myself away with my praying hands pressed to his breast.
"Are you sure that I'm not mixing you and—your faith?" I asked, looking him honestly in the face and giving voice to the thought that Nickols had put into my mind and which had tortured me all the weary months past.
"Did any thought of me make you bring Martha Ensley to Nickols' death bed and take into your heart and home what the world calls dishonor?"
"No," I answered with honesty to myself.
"Have you once since you knew—knew—felt that you must turn to me for comfort and help in one of your dire hours?"
"Not once," I answered again with honesty.
"Have you not learned to turn to Him?"
"I have!" I answered.
"That's God's love. Then you can give me the love that belongs to me in your heart's kingdom, can't you?"
"I'm afraid—I'm going to love you too much—I feel it coming. What'll you do with it? Stop me!" I said with both a sob and a laugh, as I began to let myself be drawn into the strong, hungry arms.