but set
and determined, and he was speaking rapidly.

"I can't help it," he said. "I can't help it. I have made up my mind and
nothing can change it, nothing but you. It rests with you. If you say
yes, then nothing else matters. Will you say it?"

He was holding both her hands now, and though she tried to withdraw
them, he would not let her.

"Will you?" he pleaded.

"I can't," she answered brokenly. "I can't. Think of your church and of
your people. What would they say if--"

"I don't care what they say."

"Oh! yes, you do. Not now, perhaps, but later you will. You don't know
Trumet as I know it. No, it's impossible."

"I tell you there is only one impossible thing. That is that I give you
up. I won't do it. I CAN'T do it! Grace, this is life and death for me.
My church--"

He paused in spite of himself. His church, his first church! He had
accepted the call with pride and a determination to do his best, the
very best that was in him, for the society and for the people whom he
was to lead. Some of those people he had learned to love; many of them,
he felt sure, loved him. His success, his popularity, the growth of the
organization and the praise which had come to him because of it, all
these had meant, and still meant, very much to him. No wonder he paused,
but the pause was momentary.

"My church," he went on, "is my work and I like it. I believe I've done
some good here and I hope to do more. But no church shall say whom I
shall marry. If you care for me, Grace, as I think and hope you do,
we'll face the church and the town together, and they will respect us
for it."

She shook her head.

"Some of them might respect you," she said. "They would say you had been
led into this by me and were not so much to blame. But I--"

"They shall respect my wife," he interrupted, snapping his teeth
together, "or I'll know the reason why."

She smiled mournfully.

"I think they'll tell you the reason," she answered. "No, John, no!
we mustn't think of it. You can see we mustn't. This has all been a
mistake, a dreadful mistake, and I am to blame for it."

"The only mistake has been our meeting in this way. We should have met
openly; I realize it, and have felt it for sometime. It was my fault,
not yours. I was afraid, I guess. But I'll not be a coward any longer.
Come, dear, let's not be afraid another day. Only say you'll marry me
and I'll proclaim it openly, to-night--Yes, from the pulpit, if you say
so."

Sh