passion, she raised her head from its resting-place. He wiped the
tears from her eyes and stooping, whispered:

"You will not reject me, Bee, because I loved another woman once?"

"No," she answered softly, "for if you loved another woman before
me, you could not help it, Ishmael. It is not that I am concerned
about."

"What then, dearest love? Speak out," he whispered.

"Oh, Ishmael, tell me truly one thing;" and she hid her face on his
shoulder while she breathed the question: "Isn't it only for my
sake, to please me and make me happy, that you offer me your love,
Ishmael?" She spoke so low, with her face so muffled on his
shoulder, that he scarcely understood her; so he bent his head and
inquired:

"What is it that you say, dear Bee?"

She tried to speak more clearly, for it seemed with her a point of
principle to put this question; but her voice was, if possible,
lower and more agitated than before, so that he had to stoop closely
and listen intently to catch her words as she answered:

"Do you not offer me your love, only because--because you have found
out--found out somehow or other that I--that I loved you first?"

He clasped her suddenly close to his heart, and whispered eagerly: