“You will drive me mad!” he said. “I am sick of it. I am more like a slave than a free man. You will not suffer me even to have a friend.”
“She is more than a friend. You have told me yourself, that you loved her.”
“And so I did,” he answered, “though of course she is nothing to me now.”
“Why are you always with her?”
“I am interested in her, deeply interested. She is unhappy with her husband, and as a minister of the gospel——”
With her tearful, truthful eyes, fixed so earnestly upon him, no wonder he paused and blushed.
“Charles, do not be a hypocrite! At least be honest. She is more to you than a friend.”
He raised his hands heavenward, in pulpit fashion, and protested.
“Edith, I swear to you before God, that there is nothing whatever between us. She is a stainless lady, her husband does not understand her, I am her spiritual friend and guide.”
“Yes, Charles; I understand,” she said, still earnestly watching him. “Justus you were mine!”