But instead of answering his question, she said with tears in her voice:
"Listen, my kind, dear friend, while I tell you the little there is to my life. I was born eighteen years ago. When but little more than four years old my father died, leaving my mother in straitened circumstances with two children; myself and a little baby sister. Ben—" and she softly placed a hand on his arm, "that little sister has never risen from her bed. She is now fourteen years old, and all those fourteen years have been spent in patient suffering.
"When I had grown to be quite a girl, a bachelor uncle, my mother's brother, adopted me, and all the advantages that wealth could offer I had. Two years ago this uncle died leaving a singular will. His property, amounting to some three hundred thousand dollars, must remain undivided, and yet he wished it shared between a nephew and myself. To accomplish this the will directs that I am to marry my cousin within two months after attaining the age of eighteen. In case either refuses to enter into the alliance, the entire estate is to go to the one agreeing to it—the other to be left unnoticed. Or in case of either marrying other persons than those specified in the will the property goes to the one remaining single. Should both marry, the property is to be divided up among a number of charities. Both my cousin and myself have employed able legal talent, but they all agree that the will is drawn up in a manner that absolutely prevents any other disposition of the property, than those specified. My dear friend, I have a darling mother who has seen many hardships and trials; one who has loved and watched over me, and sacrificed and suffered for me as only a mother can. I have a poor, helpless, little sister—bed-ridden for life. The income I now receive from my share of my uncle's property provides them with a comfortable home, and furnishes those necessities, both little and great, without which life, under the best of circumstances, is hard. How much more then would it be for a poor helpless little invalid? Tell me Ben—tell me my good friend—have I a right to refuse my cousin's proffered hand? Have I a right to take from those two dear ones the only support they have? Is my life or person my own? Tell me, you who are so noble and brave; you who would have given up your life for me—tell me, am I right? For, Ben, I feel that I owe my life to you, and would now be a corpse at the bottom of the cruel waters if you had not freely risked your own existence for mine. I feel this, and feeling it I give myself to you; it is the least return I can make. You have heard my story; you know my position; would you have me break my engagement?"
Poor Ben! Alas, poor Ben! Stone by stone the temple had gone up. Column, and coigne, and architrave; tower, and entablature, and dome. And here lay the fairy castle—all tumbled at his feet! Built of air, and into air it had vanished. Bad, black, selfish thoughts strolled over the ruins. Every one for himself. What should he care for a mother he had never seen, and a sick sister he did not know? What were their ease and comfort to him. The girl by his side had confessed that she loved him. True the confession may have emanated from an overwhelming sense of gratitude that subverted all other responsibilities. But what of that? Evidently from the plenitude of her heart and innocence she felt as she had spoken—that he had saved her life, and that it was his. Why should he not claim it?
Poor Ben. It was so hard to see his castles tumbled down. So hard to find his daydreams so near a realization and then to give her up. He could not, he would not. Not until that moment did he know how completely this love had taken possession of him. Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, during all the long miles of his tramp it had been subtly permeating every sense of his body. And must he now pluck it out? He hid his face in his hands. Then a soft little hand stole over his head and a warm arm about his neck, while in low accents she said:
"Tell me Ben, am I right?"
There was good stuff in those hard-headed and stubborn-minded people who first set Christian foot upon Plymouth Rock. There was good stuff in this their descendant.
He raised his head and taking both of her hands in his, said slowly—even solemnly:
"Yes, darling, you are right! But, oh, you do not know how hard it is to give you up for I love you so much! But you are right, God bless you, you are right! The service I rendered was one my manhood owed to humanity—no more. It would ill become that manhood that it claim as a reward that you desert the paths of duty to those loved ones. Kiss me, Bertha; you may do that. There now, sister, lie down and sleep, for I know you need rest," and he covered her with his coat and piled the leaves and brush about her form.
Then hour after hour Ben sat and held bitter communion with himself.