“But I've known many of the happiest marriages to finally result from nothing but the sheer persistence of the man concerned,” the preacher went on, ardently, “and when I think of _that_ I _live_, Miss Cynthia--I live! And when I think of the chance of losing you it nearly drives me crazy. I can't help feeling that way. You are simply all I care for on earth. Do you remember when I first met you? It was at Hattie Mayfield's party just after I got this appointment; we sat on the porch alone and talked. I reckon it was merely your respect for my calling that made you so attentive, but I went home that night out of my head with admiration. Then I saw that Frank Miller was going with you everywhere, and that people thought you were engaged, and, as I did not admire his moral character, I was very miserable in secret. Then I saw that he stopped, and I got it from a reliable source that you had turned him down because you didn't want to marry such a man, and my hopes and admiration climbed still higher. You had proved that you were the kind of woman for a preacher's wife--the kind of woman I've always dreamed of having as my companion in life.” “I didn't love him, that was all,” Cynthia said, quietly. “It would not have been fair to him or myself to have received his constant attentions.” “But now I am down in the dregs again, Miss Cynthia.” Hillhouse gave a sigh. It was almost a groan. She glanced at him once, and then lowered her eyes half fearfully to the ground. And, getting his breath rapidly, the preacher bent more closely over her shoulder, as if to catch some reply from her lips. She made none. “Yes, I'm in the dregs again--miserable, afraid, jealous! You know why, Miss Cynthia. You know that any lover would be concerned to see the girl upon whom he had based his every hope going often with Nelson Floyd, a man about whom people say--” “Stop!” the girl turned upon him suddenly and gazed into his eyes steadily. “If you have anything to say against him, don't do it to me. He's my friend, and I will not listen to anything against those I like.” “I'm not going to criticise him.” Hillhouse bit his white, unsteady lip, as he pinched it between his thumb and index finger. “A man's a fool that will try to win a woman by running down his rival. The way to run a man up in a woman's eye is to openly run him down. Men are strong enough to bear such things, but women don't think so. They shelter them like they do their babies. No, I wasn't going to run him down, but I am afraid of him. When you go out driving with him, I--” Again Cynthia turned upon him and looked at him steadily, her eyes flashing. “Don't go too far; you might regret it,” she said. “It is an insult to be spoken to as you are speaking to me.”