relief to her mind that his courtship was so quiet and undemonstrative.
Her heart was sore and grief-stricken, and she was not conscious of any
other feeling toward him than the deepest gratitude and wish to make
such return as was within her power. He was apparently very frank in
regard to his past life, and nothing was said which excited her
suspicions. Indeed, she felt that it would be disloyalty to think of
questioning or surmising evil of one who had proved himself so true a
friend in her sore need. She was therefore somewhat prepared for the
words he spoke one warm September day, as they sat together in a little
shaded park.

"Alida," he said, a little nervously, "we are both strangers and alone
in this world, but surely we are no longer strangers to each other.
Let us go quietly to some minister and be married. That is the best
way for you to pay your debt and keep me always in debt to you."

She was silent a moment, then faltered, "I'd rather pay all my debt
first."

"What debts can there be between husband and wife? Come now, let us
look at the matter sensibly. I don't want to frighten you. Things
will go on much the same. We can take quiet rooms, I will bring work
to you instead of your having to go after it. It's nobody's business
but our own. We've not a circle of relations to consult or invite. We
can go to some parsonage, the minister's family will be the witnesses;
then I'll leave you at your room as usual, and no one will be any the
wiser till I've found a place where we can go to housekeeping. That
won't be long, I can tell you."

He placed the matter in such a simple, natural light that she did not
know how to refuse.

"Perhaps I do not love you as much as you ought to be loved, and
deserve to be in view of all your kindness," she tried to explain. "I
feel I ought to be very truthful and not deceive you in the least, as I
know you would not deceive me." So strong a shiver passed through his
frame that she exclaimed, "You are taking cold or you don't feel well."

"Oh, it's nothing!" he said hastily, "only the night air, and then a
fellow always feels a little nervous, I suppose, when he's asking for
something on which his happiness depends. I'm satisfied with such
feeling and good will as you have for me, and will be only too glad to
get you just as you are. Come, before it is too late in the evening."

"Is your heart bent on this, after what I have said, Wilson?"

"Yes, yes, ind