Nobody

"But I think I must ask you. It concerns me to know how, and towardswhom, my manner can have misled you. Who was it?"

"It was not – your manner – exactly," said Lois, in terribleembarrassment. "I was mistaken."

"How could you be mistaken?"

"I never dreamed – the thought never entered my head – that – it was I."

"I must have been in fault then," said he gently; "I did not want towear my heart on my sleeve, and so perhaps I guarded myself too well. Idid not wish to know anybody else's opinion of my suit till I had heardyours. What is yours, Lois? – what have you to say to me?"

He checked the horses again, and sat with his face inclined towardsher, waiting eagerly, Lois knew. And then, what a sharp pain shotthrough her! All that had gone before was nothing to this; and for amoment the girl's whole nature writhed under the torture. She knew herown mind now; she was fully conscious that the best gift of earth waswithin her grasp; her hands were stretched longingly towards it, herwhole heart bounded towards it; to let it go was to fall into an abyssfrom which light and hope seemed banished; there was everything in allthe world to bid her give the answer that was waited for; only dutybade her not give it. Loyalty to God said no, and her promise bound hertongue. For that minute that she was silent Lois wrestled with mortalpain. There are martyrs and martyrdoms now-a-days, that the world takesno account of; nevertheless they have bled to death for the cause, andhave been true to their King at the cost of all they had in the world.Mr. Dillwyn was waiting, and the fight had to be short, though well sheknew the pain would not be. She must speak. She did it huskily, andwith a fierce effort. It seemed as if the words would not come out.

"I have nothing to say, Mr. Dillwyn, – that you would like to hear," sheadded, remembering that her first utterance was rather indefinite.

"You do not mean that?" he said hurriedly.

"Indeed I do."

"I know," he said, "you never say anything you do not mean. But how do you mean it, Lois? Not to deny me? You do not mean that?"

"Yes," she said. And it was like putting a knife through her own heartwhen she said it. O, if she were at home! O, if she had never come onthis drive! O, if she had never left Esterbrooke and thosesick-beds! – But here she was, and must stand the question; and Mr.Dillwyn had not done.

"What reason do you give me?" – and his voice grated now with pain.

"I gave none," said Lois faintly. "Don't let us talk about it! It is nouse. Don't ask me anything more!"

"One question I must. I must know it. Do you dislike me, Lois?"

"Dislike? O no! how should I dislike you?" she answered. There was alittle, very slight, vibration in her voice as she spoke, and hercompanion discerned it. When an instrument is very high strung, a quitesoft touch will be felt and answered, and that touch swept all thestrings of Mr. Dillwyn's soul with music.

"If you do not dislike me, then," said he, "what is it? Do you, possibly like me, Lois?"

Lois could not prevent a little hesitation before she answered, andthat, too, Philip well noted.

"It makes no difference," she said desperately. "It isn't that. Don'tlet us talk any more about it! Mr. Dillwyn, the horses have beenwalking this great while, and we are a long way from home; won't youdrive on?"

He did drive on then, and for a while said not a word more. Lois waspanting with eagerness to get home, and could not go fast enough; shewould gladly have driven herself, only not quite such a fresh and gaypair of horses. They swept along towards a region that she could seefrom afar was thicker set with lights than the parts where they were.Before they reached it, however, Mr. Dillwyn drew rein again, and madethe horses walk gently.

"There is one question still I must ask," he said; "and to ask it, Imust for a moment disobey your commands. Forgive me; but when thehappiness of a whole life is at stake, a moment's pain must beborne – and even inflicted – to make sure one is not suffering needlesslya far greater evil. Miss Lois, you never do anything without a reason; tell me your reason for refusing me. You thought I liked some one else;it is not that; I never have liked any one else. Now, what is it?"

"There is no use in talking," Lois murmured. "It is only pain."

"Necessary pain," said he firmly. "It is right I should know, and itmust be possible for you to tell me. Say that it is because you cannotlike me well enough – and I shall understand that."

But Lois could not say it; and the pause, which embarrassed herterribly, had naturally a different effect upon her companion.

"It is not that!" he cried. "Have you been led to believe somethingfalse about me, Lois? – Lois?"

"No," she said, trembling; the pain, and the difficulty of speaking, and the struggle it cost, set her absolutely to trembling. "No, it issomething true." She spoke faintly, but he listened well.

"True! What is it? It is not true. What do you mean, dear?"

The several things which came with the intonations of this lastquestion overset the remnant of Lois's composure. She burst into tears; and he was looking, and the moonlight was full in her face, and hecould not but see it.

"I cannot help it," she cried; "and you cannot help it. It is no use totalk about it. You know – O, you know – you are not a Christian!"

It was almost a cry at last with which she said it; and the usuallyself-contained Lois hid her face away from him. Whether the horseswalked or trotted for a little while she did not know; and I think itwas only mechanical, the effort by which their driver kept them at afoot pace. He waited, however, till Lois dropped her hands again, andhe thought she would attend to him.

"May I ask," he then said, and his voice was curiously clear andcomposed, – "if that is your only objection to me?"

"It is enough!" said Lois smotheredly, and noticing at the same timethat ring in his voice.

"You think, one who is a Christian ought never to marry another who isnot a Christian?"

"No!" she said, in the same way, as if catching her breath.

"It is very often done."

She made no reply. This was a most cruel discussion, she thought. Wouldthey never reach home? And the horses walking! Walking, and shakingtheir heads, with soft little peals of the bells, like creatures whohad at last got quiet enough to like walking.

"Is that all, Lois?" he asked again; and the tone of his voiceirritated her.

"There need not be anything more," she answered. "That is enough. It isa barrier for ever between us; you cannot overcome it – and I cannot. O,do make the horses go! we shall never get home! and don't talk anymore."

"I will let the horses go presently; but first I must talk a littlemore, because there is something that must be said. That was abarrier, a while ago; but it is not now. There is no need for either ofus to overcome it or try to overcome it, for it does not exist. Lois,do you hear me? It does not exist."

"I do not understand," she said, in a dazed kind of way, turningtowards him. "What does not exist?"

"That barrier – or any barrier – between you and me."

"Yes, it does. It is a barrier. I promised my dear grandmother – andif I had not promised her, it would be just the same, for I havepromised to obey God; and he forbids it."

"Forbids what?"

"Forbids me, a Christian, to have anything to do with you, who are nota Christian. I mean, in that way."

"But, Lois – I am a Christian too."

"You?" she said, turning towards him.

"Yes."

"What sort of a one?"

Philip could not help laughing at the naïve question, which, however,he perfectly understood.

"Not an old one," he said; "and not a good one; and yet, Lois, truly anhonest one. As you mean the word. One whose King Christ is, as he isyours; and who trusts in him with the whole heart, as you do."

"You a Christian!" exclaimed Lois now, in the greatest astonishment.