"It's a heavy burden," said David, drawing a quick deep breath; "the worse for me, because I should have spared you, and ought never to have told you how I loved you. But with the light that's been given to me, I dare not follow my own weak heart, unless--unless--" he went on, in a voice that trembled as a woman's might have done. "Well, unless--?" said Faith, looking up. "You couldn't bear such a life as mine must be?" said David, speaking slowly, and as it were out of a strange silence. "Poverty and hardship, and men's bitter persecutions, and only me faithful by your side? You couldn't bear that, my dear, could you?" The words were so tender, so wistful, that for an instant Faith hesitated. But her love was not strong enough either to cast an ideal light over the life he thus unfolded before her, or to enable her to face its endurance for his sake. Instead of giving him a direct answer, she said with a touch of anger,-- "And you'll be marrying another girl, I suppose?" Stephens caught hold of her hand. "Don't say that again, Faith, for I can't bear it. You know that to my dying day I shall never love but you," he said hoarsely. This assurance of love was sweet to Faith. After all, he would never be able to give her up. "You'd do well enough," she said quickly, "if you'd keep to your business, and not share your own with every idle body, which nobody's called to do. Come, David, and then we might be comfortable." "It can't be that way," he said; and there was a direct force in his words which let her feel the uselessness of saying more. "What shall you do, then?" she asked, in a tone that was half petulant and half tearful. "The way isn't clear to me yet," said David slowly, "but there's one of our body has spoken to me about going out to South America as a missionary. He thinks there is a manifest call there to a faithful worker, while there are others holding that work may be done here more effectually than hitherto, though we are so cramped and fettered in its discharge. It will be made plain to me before long. You will think as kindly of me as ever you can, Faith, won't you? Words don't seem worth anything between you and me, but there's an inward speaking surer. You won't let them set you against me, my darling,--you'll forgive me--" He stopped suddenly, speechless with rush of intense feeling. Faith's spirit failed her, the hope that had so persistently kept its place died away out of her heart, all her little persuasions seemed useless; and, touched by some vibration from his own strong emotion, with a mute gesture, pathetic in its helplessness, she turned round; flung up her arms against the wall, and pressed her face between them. When she lifted her head to speak, David was gone. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.