"Why not? Why are you so unhappy?" he asked, with an accent of stern reproof. "It is a beautiful land--you are among your own people, you have your music, your work, and you are young. You ought to be happy." "That's just it," she interrupted, quite fiercely. "It is because I am young that I want to do something. It seems to me to-day as if I were losing the best years of my life here in this little town, and I want to get away. I _must_ get away!" "Does your work with me seem of no value?" His glowing eyes sought hers. He approached her. "Do I weary you? Am I an irritation?" Her face softened. "No, you have helped me very much. I couldn't have endured this life without you and my music; but this other life--these sittings--I can't go on with them." "Don't you feel that you must? Don't you feel their enormous importance?" "No, I don't! I begin to doubt myself--everybody. What have _they_ done for you, for anybody, that I should sacrifice nay whole life to them and their wishes?" "They brought me healing; they made Dr. Randall happy in his last years; they are a daily solace to your mother; they will comfort millions through our agency." He bent towards her. "Viola, my girl, God has designed for you and me a closer union than even this. You say I have comforted you, that I have made life happier for you. I have come to-night to tell you that I love you, and that I want you to be my wife." The girl recoiled from the touch of his hand, uttering a low cry of surprise, of question. He went on: "Yes, I have grown to care for you beyond any other human being. You are my staff, my stay. God sent you to my spiritual healing. I should have gone mad but for you." He bent upon her a look of passion and command. "You must not think of going away. You belong to me." Her face warned him that his appeal was being misinterpreted, and he added, quickly: "I know this comes to you abruptly, and yet you must have felt my love, you must have read my heart." "Not in that way," she answered, in a low voice. "I thought you--I always understood--" The memory of his professed suffering, his oft-expressed adoration for the dead Adele, checked her, filled her with a storm of doubt, and she could not finish her accusation. He caught up the thread she dropped. "I _did_ love Adele, I love her still--a holy, mysterious love--a love you cannot understand; my feeling for you is different, but no less high. It is the cry of a lonely, desolate man. Come to me, Viola; do not question; follow your heart's leadings, as I do." The light of her accusing young eyes pierced the armor of his defence, and he fell upon his knees before her. "I can't explain it, but it is true, Viola. I have not deceived you. I loved her--I love her still. She is vital in my life. I was sincere in all I said; but you are flesh and she is spirit. Don't you see? You can comfort me--assist me, work with me as she cannot."