"If this be so, Barbara," he cried harshly, "you have deceived me, cruelly. Why did you save me in the forest? Why did you nurse me back to life at Wells? Better to have left me to die then, deeming you worthy my love, than let me live to learn such love in vain. No, by Heaven!" he cried passionately, "I care not what becomes of me; I will not live if I must lose you." Barbara laid her hands softly upon his arm, and in her eyes as she raised them to his face, a strange light gleamed. "Ralph," she whispered, "am I so unworthy of your love?" "What mean you?" he cried, staring down at her. "Nay, perchance I am wrong," she answered, "only it seemeth to me sad that love must turn to bitterness an it be not crowned by possession. And methinks a man’s love for a woman, an the woman be worthy, should be so high a thing, that whether he win her or no, yet is his life dedicated to her forever, and for her sake should be lived in all honour and purity. For think not, tho’ a woman may not love a man, her heart is hardened at his suit. Rather does she strive her life thro’ to be more pure, more true, more noble, even for his love’s sake, to grow more worthy of that highest gift which he has offered to her. Thus in their separate paths thro’ the world, two lives shine brighter in honour of each other, and love that seemeth but to lead to bitterness and despair, proves rather a mighty power strengthening and glorifying her to whom ’twas offered, and him who bore it. Nay, Ralph, I cannot rightly say my meaning, but sure true love should make a man strong, not weak; strong to love even without reward." She paused, and as he looked into her eyes, the enthusiasm of her soul passed into his, and his heart went out to her in worship, wholly unselfish, wholly pure. For he perceived how fair a part it is for a man, rather than seek ever wages for service in just exchange, to give life in service unrewarded if his soul be wakened to the sacrifice. Low stooping he kissed her hands. "You are right, Barbara," he said softly; "who was I to speak to you of love? Yet now, God helping me, my life, my love, shall prove as worthy of you as you are worthy of the best a man may give." But still her eyes looked on him pityingly. "And, Ralph," she pleaded, "surely love is not all to a man. There are other prizes worth the winning: fame, power, knowledge, may not these fill your heart?" He smiled at her, shaking his head. "Nay, Barbara, when I ask for bread, wilt throw me a stone? Leave me my love, dear, it sufficeth me. All I ask of life now is grace to prove me worthy to live in your memory." So he spake, nor dreamed that in a few short years, his love would have faded to a tender memory, and life, fame, honour, again be all in all. So they turned and went back through the copse into the sunlit garden, and Ralph, his heart still heavy beneath his sorrow, passed on into the shadow of the house.