Was it at all singular that she recoiled from such an alternative? She
could not endure this captivity any longer. And was it, then, so
dreadful to give herself to the man who adored her? No. If she did not
love him, she at least had a strong friendship, and this in time might
change to love. She had a greater regard for him than for any other
man. Distasteful? It was. Yes. But it was far better than this
imprisonment. She must take him as her husband, or lose him forever. He
could do no more for her unless she became his wife. He could only save
her by marrying her.

She was touched by his present attitude. He was waiting so patiently,
so humbly. She saw his deep agitation.

Suddenly, by a quick movement, she turned toward him and held out her
hand. Dudleigh took it, and for a moment each gazed into the other's
eyes, regardless of observation. Dudleigh's face was deathly pale, and
his hand as cold as ice.

"Oh, my friend," said Edith, in a low, hesitating voice, "what can I say
to you? I can not give you love. I have no such feeling, but I feel
deep gratitude. I know your worth. You have done so much, and I wish I
could feel different. If you take me as I am, I--I--I am--yours. But I
am not worthy. No, I am not--not worthy of such devotion. You love me,
but I do not love you. What can I do? Yet in spite of this, if you ask
me, I am--yours."

Edith spoke with downcast eyes and deep embarrassment and frequent
hesitation. Her last words died away almost into a whisper. But the
agitation of Dudleigh was now even greater than her own. A change came