sounded oddly clear in the hushed night air.

"What do you mean by 'like that'?"

Her little hand was clinched tight as it lay on his arm. The perfect
silence that followed the words of each made every movement significant.

"You know, --as a woman loves the man she would marry, not as she loves a
brotherly cousin."

"The difference is not clear to me--but--how did you learn the difference?"

"How dare you?" she cried, flashing a pair of dark, wet eyes upon him.

"In such a case, 'I dare do all that may become a man.' Besides, even if
there is a difference, I still ask you to be my wife. You would not regret
it, Ruth, I think."

His voice was not soft, but there was a certain strained pleading about it
that pained her inexpressibly.

"Louis," she said, with slow distinctness, her hand moving down until it
touched his, "I never thought of this as a possibility. You know how much
I have always loved you, dear; but oh, Louis, will it hurt you very much,
will you forgive me if I have to say no, I cannot be your wife?"

"Wait. I wish you to consider this well. I am offering you all that I
have in the world; it is not despicable. Your family, I know, would be
pleased. Besides, it would be well for you--God knows, not because I am
what I am, but for other reasons. Wait. I beg of you not to answer me