speak. He walked a
little way down the path, then came back. "Lucina," he said,
brokenly, "as God is my witness--I never thought of this--I
never--thought that you--could-- Oh, look at yourself, and look at
me! You know that I could not have thought--oh, look at yourself,
there was never anybody like you! I did not think that you
could--care for or--be hurt by--_me_."

"I have never seen anybody like you, not even father," Lucina said.
She looked at him with the shrinking yet loving faithfulness of a
child before emotion which it cannot comprehend. She could not
understand why, if Jerome loved her and she him, there was anything
to be distressed about. She could not imagine why he was so pale and
agitated, why he did not take her in his arms and kiss her again, why
they could not both be happy at once.

"Oh, my God!" cried Jerome, and looked at her in a way which
frightened her.

"Don't," she said, softly, shrinking a little.

"Lucina, you know how poor I am," he said, hoarsely. "You know
I--can't--marry."

"I don't need much," said she.

"I couldn't--give you what you need."

"Father would, then."

"No, he would not. I give my wife all or nothing."

Lucina trembled. The same look which she remembered when Jerome would
not take her little savings was in his eyes.

"Then--I would not take anything from father," she said, tremulously.
"I wouldn't mind--being--poor."

"I have seen the wives of poor men, and you shall not be made one by
me. If I thought I had not strength enough to keep you from that, as
far as I was concerned, I would leave you this minute, and throw
myself in the pond over there."

"I am not afraid to be the wife of--a poor man--if I love him.
I--could save, and--work," Lucina said, speaking with the necessity
of faithfulness upon her, yet timidly, and turning her face aside,
for her heart had begun to fear lest Jerome did not really love her
nor want her, after all. A woman who would sacrifice herself for
love's sake cannot understand the sacrifice, nor the love, which
refuses it.

"You shall not be, whether you are afraid or not!" Jerome cried out,
fiercely. "Haven't I seen John Upham's wife? Oh, God!"

Lucina began moving slowly down the path towards the road; Jerome
followed her. "I must go," she said, with a gentle dignity, though
she trembled in all her limbs. "I came across the fields from Aunt
Camilla's. I left her asleep, and she will wake and miss me."

"Oh," cried Jerome,