"You never did," he said wonderingly. "You? Why, there never was anybody so reserved, so--shy, almost. That's one reason I love you, I guess," he said boyishly. "You mustn't love me." "Will you marry me?" he repeated. "Oh, I know; it is like asking an angel to come down out of heaven--" "An angel!" "Mrs. Richie, isn't it possible for you to care, just a little, and marry me?" "No, Sam: indeed it isn't. Please don't think of it any more." "Is it because you love him, still?" "Love--_him?_" she breathed. "He is dead," Sam said; "and I thought from something you once said, that you didn't really love him. But if you do--" "My--husband, you mean? No! I don't. I never did. That's not the reason; oh, why did I come here?" she said in a distressed whisper. At that he lifted his head. "Don't be unhappy. It doesn't matter about me." His eyes glittered. "'All is dross that is not Helena'! I shall love you as long as I live, even if you don't marry me. Perhaps--perhaps I wouldn't if you did!" He did not notice her involuntary start of astonishment, he rose, and lifting his arms to the sky, stood motionless, rapt, as if in wordless appeal to heaven. Then his arms dropped. "No," he said, speaking with curious thoughtfulness: "no; you would be human if you could marry a fool like me." Helena made a protesting gesture, but he went on, quietly: "Oh, yes; I am a fool. I've been told so all my life; but I knew it, anyhow. Nobody need have told me. Of course you couldn't marry me! If you could, you would be like me. And I would not want that. No; you are God to me. Stay divine." Helena put her hands over her ears. "But please, can't you love me? We needn't be married, if you'd rather not. If you'll just love me a little?" The innocence of the plea for love without marriage struck her with a dull humor that faded into annoyance that she should see the humor. It was an uncomfortable sensation, and she hated discomfort; in her desire to escape from it, she spoke with quick impatience. "No, Sam, of course not,--not the way you want me to. Why, you are just a boy, you know!" she added, lightly. But Sam threw himself on his knees beside her, and pressed his head against her skirts. "Oh, are you _sure_, Mrs. Richie? Why, it seems to me you might--just a little? Can't you? You see, I'm so lonely," he ended pitifully. His innocent solemn eyes were limpid with tears, and he looked at her with terrified beseeching, like a lost child. The tears that sprang to her eyes were almost motherly; for an impetuous instant she bent over him, then drew back sharply, and the tears dried in a hot pang of shame. "No, Sam; I can't. Oh, I am so sorry! Please forgive me--I ought not to have let you--but I didn't know--yes; I did know! And I ought to have stopped you. It's my fault. Oh, how selfish I have been! But it's horrible to have you talk this way! Won't you please not say anything more?" She was incoherent to the point of crying.