“It helped me wonderfully, Miss Cynthia, and once a hope actually flashed through me so strong that I lost my place. You may have seen me turning the pages of the Bible. I was trying to think where I’d left off. The hope was this: that some day, if I keep on begging you, and showing my deep respect and regard you will not turn me away. Just for one minute this morning it seemed to me that you had actually consented, and—and the thought was too much for me.” “Oh, don’t speak any more about it, Mr. Hillhouse,” Cynthia pleaded, giving him a full look from her wonderful brown eyes. “I have already said all I can to you.” “But I’ve known many of the happiest marriages to finally result from nothing but the sheer persistence of the man concerned, and when I think of _that_—and when I think of the chance of losing you, it nearly drives me crazy. I can’t help feeling that way. You are simply all I care for on earth. Do you remember when I first met you? It was at Hattie Mayfield’s party, just after I got this appointment; we sat on the porch alone and talked. I reckon it was merely your respect for my calling that made you so attentive, but I went home that night out of my head with admiration. Then I saw that Frank Miller was going with you everywhere, and that people thought you were engaged, and, as I did not admire his moral character, I was very miserable in secret. Then I saw that he stopped, and I got it from a reliable source that you had refused him because you did not want to marry such a man, and my hopes and admiration climbed still higher. You had proved that you were the kind of a woman for a preacher’s wife—the kind of woman I’ve always dreamed of having as my companion in life.” “I didn’t love him, that was all,” Cynthia said calmly. “It would not have been fair to him or myself to have received his constant attentions.” “But now I am down in the dregs again, Miss Cynthia.” Hillhouse gave a sigh. It was almost a groan. She glanced at him once and then lowered her eyes half fearfully. And, getting his breath rapidly, the preacher bent more closely over her shoulder, as if to catch some reply from her lips. She made none. “Yes, I’m in the dregs again—miserable, afraid, jealous! You know why, Miss Cynthia. You know that any lover would be concerned to see the girl upon whom he had based his every hope going often with Nelson Floyd. Of all men, he——” “Stop!” The girl paused, turned upon him suddenly and gazed at him steadily. “If you have anything to say about him don’t say it to me. He’s my friend, and I will not listen to anything against those I like.”