Mr. Clerron's face suddenly changed. He sat down, took both her hands,
and drew her towards him.

"Ivy, perhaps I have been misunderstanding you. I will at least find
out the truth. Ivy, do you know that I love you, that I have loved you
almost from the first, that I would gladly here and now take you to my
heart and keep you here forever?"

"I do not know it," faltered Ivy, half beside herself.

"Know it now, then! I am older than you, and I seem to myself so far
removed from you that I have feared to ask you to trust your happiness
to my keeping, lest I should lose you entirely; but sometimes you say
or do something which gives me hope. My experience has been very
different from yours. I am not worthy to clasp your purity and
loveliness. Still I would do it, if--Tell me, Ivy, does it give you
pain or pleasure?"

Ivy extricated her hands from his, deliberately drew a footstool, and
knelt on it before him,--then took his hands, as he had before held
hers, gazed steadily into his eyes, and said,--

"Mr. Clerron, are you in earnest? Do you love me?"

"I am, Ivy. I do love you."

"How do you love me?"

"I love you with all the strength and power that God has given me."