“Demaris—” he spoke slowly; his face was pale—“I’m goin’ to say somethin’ to you I never thought I’d say to any girl alive. But the fact is, I didn’t know till right now how much I think o’ you. You marry me, an’ we’ll all live together?” Her face softened. She leaned a little toward him with uncontrollable tenderness. But as he made a quick movement, she drew back. “No, Frank. I can’t—I can’t! It won’t do. Such things is what breaks women’s hearts!” “What things, dear?” “Folks livin’ together that way. There’s no good ever comes of it. I’d have to set up with mother just the same, an’ you’d be worryin’ all the time for fear it ’u’d make me sick, an’ you’d be wantin’ to set up with ’er yourself.” “Of course,” he said, stoutly. “I’d expect to. That’s what I mean. I’d take some o’ your load off o’ you.” Demaris smiled mournfully. “You don’t know what it is, Frank. It’s all very well to talk about it, but when it comes to doin’ it you’d be tired out ’n a month. You’d wish you hadn’t married me—an’ that ’u’d kill me!” “I wouldn’t. Oh, Demaris, just you try me. I’ll be good to all your folks—just as good’s can be, dear. I swear it.” She leaned toward him again with a sob. He took her in his arms. He felt the delicious warmth of her body. Their lips trembled together. After a while she drew away slowly and looked at him earnestly in the faint light. “If I thought you wouldn’t change,” she faltered. “I know you mean it now, but oh—” “Sister,” called a thin, troubled voice from the hall; “can’t you come here just a minute?” Demaris went at once, closing the door behind her. The child threw her slim arms around her sister’s waist, sobbing. “Oh, sister, I forgot to get the kindlin’ wood, an’ now it’s so dark down cellar. I’m afraid. Can’t you come with me?” “Wait a few minutes, dear, an’ I will. Frank won’t stay long to-night.” “Oh, won’t he? I’m so glad.” Her voice sunk to a whisper. “I hate to have him here, sister. He takes you away from us so much, an’ ev’rything goes wrong when you ain’t here. Ma’s offul bad to-night, an’ pa looks so tired! Don’t let him stay long, sister. He don’t need you as bad ’s we do.” She tiptoed into the kitchen. Demaris stood still in the hall. The moon was coming, large and silver, over the hill. Its soft light brought her slender figure out of the dark, and set a halo above her head bending on its fair neck, like a flower on its stem. Her lips moved, but the prayer remained voiceless in her heart. A moan came from her mother’s room. “Oh, paw, you hurt my head! Your hand’s terrable rough! Is that girl goin’ to stay in there forever?” Demaris lifted her head and walked steadily into the poor little parlor. “I’ll have to ask you to go now, Frank; my mother needs me.” “Well, dear.” He reached his strong young arms to her. She stood back, moving her head from side to side. “No, Frank. I can’t marry you, now or ever. My mother comes first.”