“You cannot know how much you have been a part of my life.  I went gladly into the war because it was a righteous cause.  No man thinks as he goes into action, this is for my country, but—­well, Leila, many times when men were falling around me, you have been with me.  If a fatal ball had found me, I should have carried with me to another world a thought of you.  This is not mere lover’s talk.  I believe in you—­you are a noble-minded woman, worthy of any man’s love, but”—­and he smiled—­“as Josiah put it, you are rather numerous.”

“Am I?—­I am much obliged by Josiah’s study of my character.”

“Don’t, please, Leila!  It is true.  I have been as good as my word.  I have been through all that can tempt in camps and cities.  I was only a young officer, but I have won praise from men whose praise is history.  Did you ever think that an honest love may be to a man like a second—­an angelic—­conscience?  By Heaven!  Leila, it should make a woman careful.”

The woman’s eyes had long since been lost to the man’s, as with bent head she listened intently, for the first time amazed at what she had been to a man whose ideals were of the highest and his ways beyond reproach.  A coy upward lift of the proudly carried head—­a mere glance of transient reply—­too brief for the man to read—­might have meant, “Have not I too been careful of my life!”

He went on slowly.  “You and I have not been spared the discipline of responsibility.  Action, danger—­helps a man.  You at home have had the worst of it—­you dear, sweet, beautiful thing.  It would have made some women peevish or rebellious.  You have grown under it in mind and heart, and I think the soul has fed the dear body.  To have set you free from Aunt Ann’s morbid unreason and the sorrow of Uncle Jim’s condition would have been enough to repay my taking over responsibilities which Aunt Ann should have borne.”

“John—­I—­”

“No, dear, let me say a word more.  I have at last talked myself out—­or almost.  It is vain to put me aside again.  You do not dare to say you do not love me—­”

“You have not asked me,” she murmured.

“No, I said I would not yesterday.  A tender word would have brought me to your feet—­and I was very sore.”

“If you were a woman, you would have understood and—­”

“Oh, wait a little,” he said.  “You are going to ask me to marry you, Leila Grey—­” She was on her feet.  “Take care,” he cried, and a smile on the strong battle-tried face arrested her angry outburst.

She said only, “Why?—­I ask—­you—­why indeed?”

“Because, Leila, you owe it to my self-respect—­because you have given that which implies love, and all I ask—­”

She looked up at him with eyes that implored pity, but all she found herself able to say was, “I don’t understand.”

“You kissed me in the cabin this afternoon—­I was not asleep—­I had half risen when I heard you, and I fell back in wondering quiet to see what you would do or say when you should wake me up.”