The girl was sobbing, and very gently he put his arm around her. "Heart's Desire," he said again, "I die to-morrow--will you tell me you love me to-night?" "I do--I do," she cried, as he drew her closer; "but, oh, you must not talk so! You cannot die to-morrow--you are young--you are strong! Don't! Don't! I must not let you misunderstand! It is not what you think!" His cry of joy changed to an inarticulate murmur, and his arms stiffened about her as she stood with her face against his breast. "I must be a stone," she sobbed, "or I would care. Don't think I haven't known, for I have; but I've been afraid--I've always been afraid to care, and now I've grown so hard I can't! Pity me--be kind to me--I cannot care, and on my soul I wish I could!" His arms fell to his sides and she was free. Half fearfully she lifted her lovely, tear-stained face to his. "I wish I could!" she sobbed. "Believe me, upon my soul, I wish I could!" "Heart's Desire, I would have no words of mine bring tears to your dear eyes. To see you so is worse than death to me. I was a fool and a brute to speak, but the words would come. I have known you were not for me. I have walked in the mire, and you are a star; but sometimes men dream that even a star may descend to lift one up. Forget it, Sweet, forget that I was mad, and if you can, forgive me!" "I never shall forget," she answered, with her lips still quivering, "for it is the sweetest thing God has yet given to me. But all my life I have been afraid to trust, afraid to yield, and now, when I would, I cannot. It is my punishment, and even though I hurt you, I must be honest with you." "Sweetheart, the hurt is naught--it is a kindness since it comes from you. I ask your pardon, and remember I shall never speak of it again. Others, perhaps, would say I have had enough--my youth, my strength, and all that makes life fair. I have served my country well and to-morrow I die fighting, as soldiers pray that they may. Women have loved me, and yet-- My darling, I die to-morrow--ah, kiss me just once for to-night!" She was very near him, but she turned her face away. "No," she whispered, "I can't. I will give you nothing unless I give you all." "So let it be," he sighed. He put his arm around her again, and she tried to move away, but he held her fast. "Don't be afraid of me," he said. "Dear Heart, can't you trust me? You might lay your sweet lips full on mine, and yet mine would not answer unless you said they might. I just want to tell you this. I can see no farther than to-morrow, and after that--I do not know. But I'm not afraid of death, nor hell, nor of God Himself, because I take with me these two things. I think all else will be forgiven, Sweet, because I have served my country well and I have been man enough to love you." "Oh," cried Beatrice, with the tears raining down her face, "I can bear it no longer--let me go home!"