no issue that way from the
wilderness of pain and trouble into which he had strayed. She was
already wedded--to that cruel art that was crushing the woman within
her. Her ways of life and his were separated as though by unknown
oceans. And how was it possible that so beautiful a woman--surrounded by
people who petted and flattered her--should not already have her heart
engaged? Even if she were free, how could she have bestowed a thought on
him--a passing stranger--a summer visitor--the acquaintance of an hour?

But no sooner had Gertrude White, to his sudden wonder, and joy, and
gratitude, made that stammering confession, than the impetuosity of his
passion leaped at once to the goal. He would not hear of any obstacles.
He would not look at them. If she would but take his hand, he would lead
her and guard her, and all would go well. And it was to this effect that
he wrote to her day after day, pouring out all the confidences of his
heart to her, appealing to her, striving to convey to her something of
his own high courage and hope. Strictly speaking, perhaps, it was not
quite fair that he should thus have disturbed the calm of her
deliberation. Had he not given her till the end of the week to come to a
decision? But when, in his eagerness, he thought of some further reason,
some further appeal, how could he remain silent? With the prize so near,
he could not let it slip from his grasp through the consideration of
niceties of conduct. By rights he ought to have gone up to Mr. White and
begged for permission to pay his addresses to the old gentleman's
daughter. He forgot all about that. He forgot that Mr. White was in
existence. All his thinking from morning till night--and through much of
the night too--was directed on her answer--the one small word filled
with a whole worldful of light and joy.

"If you will only say that one little word," he wrote to her, "then
everything else becomes a mere trifle. If there are obstacles, and
troubles, and what not, we will meet them one by one, and dispose of
them. There can be no obstacles, if we are of one mind; and we shall be
of one mind sure enough, if you will say you will become my wife; for
there is nothing I will not consent to; and I shall only be too glad to
have opportunities of showing my great gratitude to you for the
sacrifice you must make. I speak of it as a sacrifice; but I do not
believe it is one--whatever you may think now--and whatever natural
regret you may f