She kissed his thin, white hands where the freckles shone more plainly than ever, and which Tom tried to free from her; she held them fast and looked steadily into the face, which shone for a moment with a joy so great that it was almost handsome, and when she said again, “Will you, Tom?” the pale lips parted with an effort to speak, but no sound was audible, only the chin quivered, and the tears stood in his gray eyes as he battled with the great temptation.  Should he accept the sacrifice?  Ought he to join her life with his?  Could she ever learn to love him?  No, she could not, and he must put her from him, even though she came asking him to take her.  Thus Tom decided, and, turning his face to the wall, he said, with a choking sob: 

“No, Daisy—­no.  It cannot be.  Such happiness is not for me now.  I must not think of it.  Thank you, darling, just the same.  It was kind in you and well meant, but it cannot be.  I could not make you happy.  I am not like Guy; never can be like him, and you would hate me after a while, and the chain would hurt you cruelly.  No, Daisy, I love you too well—­and yet, Daisy—­Daisy—­why do you tempt me so—­if it could have been!”

He turned suddenly toward her, and, winding both his arms around her, drew her to him in a quick, passionate embrace, crying piteously over her, and saying: 

“My darling, my darling, if it could have been, but it’s too late now—­God is good and will take me to himself.  I thought of it before I was sick, and believe I am a better man, and Jesus is my friend, and I am going to him.  I’m glad you told me what you have.  It will make my last days happier, and when I am gone you will find that I did well with you.”

He put her from him then, for faintness and great exhaustion were stealing over him, and that was the last that ever passed between him and Daisy on the subject which all his life had occupied so much of his thoughts.  The fever had left him, it is true, but he seemed to have no vital force or rallying power, and after a few days it was clear even to Daisy that Tom’s life was drawing to a close.  “The man in the corner” was there again waiting for his prey, and would not leave this time until he bore with him an immortal soul.  And Tom was very happy.  He had thought much of death and what lay beyond during those days when Daisy’s life hung in the balance, and the result of the much thinking had been a full surrender of himself to God, who did not forsake him when the dark, cold river was closing over him.

Calm and peaceful as the setting of the summer sun was the close of his life, and up to the last he retained his consciousness, with the exception of a few hours, when his mind wandered a little, and he talked to “that other one,” whom no one could see but whose presence all felt so vividly.