And seeing him so, such a figure of helpless strength, the woman's gray
eyes filled with tears, that were not yet permitted to fall. In his
presence she would be strong--afterwards her own heart should have its
way.
Once her hand went out, slowly towards the shaggy red-brown hair, but
was silently withdrawn, and the trembling white fingers again plucked
the young blades of grass.
So they sat, these two--face to face with their hearts' tragedy,
each--for the other's sake--striving to be strong.
"Tell me," he said at last, raising his head but not looking her in the
face, and speaking in tones that were strained and hard, "if I were
anything else, if I were engaged in any other work, would you be my
wife?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"Because I must know," he answered almost harshly.
"If you were a common laborer, a business or professional man, if your
work was anything honorable and right, save what it is--yes, gladly; oh,
how gladly!"
"Then," he burst forth hotly, "I will give up my work. I will be
something else!"
"You would give up your ministry for me?" she questioned doubtfully;
"your chosen life work?"
His voice sank to a hoarse whisper. "Yes, and if it need be--my religion,
my God."
As he finished speaking she laid her hand on his arm. "Hush, oh hush!
That is not worthy of you; it is not true to our love. You are beside
yourself."
He continued eagerly, "But I have learned that other work is just as
holy, just as sacred, as the work of the preacher and the church.
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