"Oh, no indeed, Mr. Brown! I wouldn't be for the world! I said just what I meant to you. I always do." "But why, then, if you love me well enough to live with me as sister, child, or friend, can't you also live with me as wife?" "Because, sir,--oh, no! I didn't mean sir,--because"-- "Frank, I told you to call me." "Because, Frank, I don't love you that way." The answer was so explicit, so unembarrassed, and so quiet, that, for the first time, Mr. Brown believed it. "Not love me, Dora, when I love you so much!" exclaimed he in dismay. "Not love you in a wife way, Frank, but a great deal in every other way. And then I don't think we should be happy together if we were married." "And why not?" asked the young man, smiling in spite of himself at the quiet opinion. "Because, as you said, you want me to put my life into your hands, and you will shape it; and you want me to set my feet in your path, and follow it with you; and you want me to trust my soul to you, and you will guide it: but I could never do that, Mr. Brown; never for any man, I think. I could never forget that God has given me a life, and a path, and a soul, all my own, and not to be judged except by Him and myself: and I am afraid I should always be asking if your guiding was in the same direction that I was meant to go; and, if I thought it was not, I should be very unhappy, and should try to live my own life, and not yours; and that would make trouble." "Yes, that would make trouble certainly, Dora," said the chaplain gravely. "But are you sure that a young and comparatively unlearned woman like yourself would be a better judge of what was right and best than a man of mature years, who has made the care of souls his profession and most earnest duty?" "No, Mr. Brown, not if I judged for myself: but I think God has especial care of those, who, like me, have none else to guide them; and I think this voice in my heart is the surest teaching of all." The profound conviction of her tone was final; the simple faith of her argument was unassailable: and Mr. Brown, skillful polemic that he was, found himself silenced. After a moment, he said calmly,-- "Dora, you will not forget that this is, to me at least, a very serious, indeed a vital matter. Is what you have just said the solemn conviction of your own heart? or have you suffered yourself to be misled by the tendency to self-esteem and perverseness I have sometimes had occasion to reprove in you? Have you thoroughly searched your own heart to its deepest depths? and is not your refusal tinctured by the natural reluctance of a determined nature to yield to a love, which, in woman, must bring with it some degree of dependence and deference?" He looked almost severely into the pale face and earnest eyes upraised to his, and read there pain, anxiety, an humble appeal, but not one trace of hesitation, not one shade of duplicity.