“Every time you speak to me or look at me you give me hope; an hour with you I live on for months. O, Tessa,” dropping his head in both hands, “I have loved you all my life.”
“I know it,” she said solemnly. “Can’t you be brave and bear it?”
“I am bearing it. I am bearing it and it is killing me. You never had the water ebb and flow, ebb and flow when you were dying of thirst. Women can not suffer; they are heartless, all their heart is used in causing men to suffer. A touch of your hand, the color in your cheek, a dropping of your eyes, talks to me and tells me a lie; and then you go up-stairs and kneel down to Him, who is the truth-maker! You are a covenant-breaker. You have looked at me scores of times as if you loved me; you have told me that you like to be with me; and when I come to you and ask you like a man to become my wife, you blush and falter, and answer like a woman—no. I beg your pardon—”
The tears stood in her eyes but would not fall.
“I did not come here to upbraid you. I did not start from home with the intention of coming; but I saw you through the window with your arms around your father’s neck and I thought, ‘Her heart is soft to-night; she will listen to me.’ I was drawn in, as you always draw me, against my better judgment. I shall not trouble you again; I am going away. Tessa,” suddenly snatching both hands, “if you are so sorry for me, why can’t you love me?”
“I don’t know,” not withdrawing her hands, “something hinders. I honor you. I admire you. Your love for me is a great rest to me; I want to wrap myself up in it and go to sleep; I do not want to give it up—no one else loves me, and I do want somebody to love me.”
“I will love you; only let me. Marry me and I will stay at home; I will do for you all that a human heart and two human hands can do; I will be to you all that you will help me to be.”
“But I do not want to marry you,” she said perplexed. “I should have to give up too much. I love my home and the people in it better than I love you.”
“I will not take you away; you shall have them all; you shall come to them and they shall come to you; remember that I have never loved any one but you—” the great tears were rolling down his cheeks. “I am not worth it; I am not worthy to speak to you, or even to hold your hands like this.” He broke down utterly, sobbing wearily and excitedly.
“Don’t, oh, don’t,” she cried hurriedly. “I may grow to love you if you want me to so much, and you are good and true, I can believe every word you say—not soon—in two or three years perhaps.”