held over me
that I'm a thief."

"But, darlin', you are no more a thief than I am; you are jest the most
beautiful and the best girl in all the world. I'll never marry anybody
ef I don't marry you, Ally. Oh, I think it is cruel of you to turn me
away jest because you happen to be the last person seen going to the
till."

"I'm sorry if I seem cruel, Jim," she replied, "but my mind is quite
made up. It's a week to-night since you asked me to be your wife. I
love yer, I don't pretend to deny it; I've loved yer for many a month,
and my heart leaped with joy when you said you loved me, and of course
I meant to say 'yes.' But now everything is changed; I'm young, only
seventeen, and whatever we do now means all our lives, Jim, yours and
mine. This morning I were so happy--yes, that I were; and I just
longed for to-night to come, and I was fit to fly when I went to the
shop, although there was a fog, and poor Grannie's hand was so painful
that she had to go to see the doctor at the hospital; but then came the
blow, and it changed everything, just everything."

"I can't see it," interrupted Jim; "I can't see your meaning; it has
not changed your love nor mine, and that's the only thing that seems to
me of much moment. You jest want me more than ever now, and I guess
that if you loved me before, you love me better now, so why don't you
say 'yes'?"

"I can't," she replied; "I have thought it all over. I was stunned at
first, but for the last hour or two everything has been very plain to
me. I am innocent, Jim. I no more took that note out of the till than
you did; but it's gone, and I'm suspected. I was accused of taking it,
before the whole shop. I'm branded, that's what I feel, and nothing
can take away the brand, and the pain, and the soreness, except being
cleared. If I were to say 'yes' to you to-night, Jim, and let you love
me, and kiss me, and by and by take me afore the parson, and make me
your lawful wife--I--I wouldn't be the sort of girl you really love.
The brand would be there, and the soreness, and the shame, and the
dreadful words would keep ringing in my ears, 'You are a thief, you are
a thief'--so I couldn't be a good wife to yer, Jim, for that sort of
thing would wear me out, and I'd be sort of changed; and well as you
love me now, it would come back to you that once the girl what was your
wife was called a thief, so I'll never say 'yes'--never, until I'm
cleared; and somehow I don't expect I