She was bending very low over her digging, and her face was turned away, which did not please me. I like to see her face. “I fear that I may lose my place,” she said. I straightened up at that, but she bent lower yet. “Lose your place!” I cried. “And why?” “Why--they--it is not easy to tell you, Adam.” “I will not urge you, Eve, but”-- “You need not. I wish to tell you, for I--a governess may not always stand alone. She is a woman, after all.” “Yes,” I said, “thank God!” “They--they would”-- She began to laugh, a nervous laugh and with no mirth in it,--“they would marry me, Adam.” “What!” I cried. “They would--who would marry you? Not old Goodwin!” “No,” she said; and laughed the more, and seemed really merry at it. “Now I feel better. Not old Goodwin. He has a wife.” I was puzzled. “Who, then, Eve? Who would marry you? I doubt not there are many who would, for I know”-- “It is old Goodwin’s wife,” she said, breaking me off short, and just in time. Then she stood straight. “Now, Adam,” she went on, “I am not so nervous as I was, but I may laugh or I may cry with no reason. I will sit upon the bank and tell you, for truly I am in straits. And do you bear with me, for you are honest, and I may trust you. And indeed I know no other I may trust--but one.” “A governess advised in matrimony by a fisherman!” I said. “And who is that one, Eve?” “You shall hear. And do not jest, Adam, or my laughter may turn to tears. They are near enough. And now for the story, which is a short one. Old Goodwin’s wife would marry me to a certain rich man,--for my worldly good, as she says.” “A certain rich man,” I said, musing. “And will he enter the Kingdom of Heaven?” “That he will not.” “Then why doubt? And do you love him, Eve?” “I do not.” “Then why doubt?” “If I do not,” she said, “I shall lose my place. And that is much to me, Adam, for what shall I do then? The man whom I may trust is old Goodwin, but he is not so much my friend as to hold against his wife.” “And what said you to the man?” “I said no, but still he came. And now I know not what I shall say next.” “Shall I tell you what to do, Eve?” “If you know, Adam.” “Marry me,” I said. And she looked at me with wide eyes and laughed; and at that laugh I was sore and hurt, though I had no right. Then her laugh died and her eyes filled. “Forgive me, Adam,” she said. “I should not laugh, but indeed I am overwrought. Truly--truly I might almost find it in my heart”-- I stood before her, trembling. “I should not have said it, Eve. What is a fisherman, that he should offer the little that he has to you? But I am well-to-do, Eve,--for a fisherman. You should never want--nor work. And if you might find it in your heart”-- “I will consider your offer, good fisherman,” she said, smiling. “I must consider. You have--I must tell you, in justice, you have an even chance with that other. But I must consider.”