“He brought some letters to uncle,” went on Sarah, “recommendations, and all that, and afterwards he spoke to me. He says he’s always thought he’d marry me when he had time, but he has never been able to leave the mines before. He has an aunt who lives here, and she has written to him about me, sometimes. He has gone on to New York for a week, and wants to stop back here over one day to get married and then go straight out to Idaho. He wanted me to answer him yesterday, but I asked him to give me until this morning to make up my mind.”
“And what did you say then?” asked Bertha breathlessly.
“I said yes,” said Sarah.
Bertha rose up, heedless of all her sewing materials, which dropped on the floor, and walking over to Sarah, solemnly embraced her.
“You are a dear girl,” she said. Then she took Sarah’s hand in hers, solicitously. “Hadn’t you better lie down, Sarah, and let me bathe your forehead and get you a glass of lemonade?”
“I’m not ill,” said the girl with a convulsive laugh.
“You are just shaking all over,” said Bertha, “and no wonder! Do you think you love him, Sarah?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you are sure he loves you?”
“He says he does.”