"
"Forgive me dear, I spoke hastily," said George, in a much softer tone.
"But it's mighty hard to have you always just within reach and yet
always just beyond."
The sun had gone down behind the ridge. The timbers of an old mining
shaft, and the limbs and twigs of a leafless tree showed black against
the tinted sky. A faint breath of air rustled the dry leaves of the
big sycamores and paw-paw bushes, and the birds called sleepily to
each other as they settled themselves for the coming night. A
sparrow-hawk darted past on silent wings, a rabbit hopped across the
road, while far away, the evening train on the "Frisco" whistled for
a crossing; and nearer, a farm boy called to his cattle. After a long
silence, George spoke again, with a note of manly dignity in his voice,
which made his fair companion's heart beat quicker. "Clara, look at
me; I want to see your eyes," he insisted. She turned her face toward
him. "Clara, if you can say, I do not love you as a woman ought to
love her husband, I will promise you, on my honor, never to mention
the subject to you again. Can you say it?"
She tried to turn her head and to hide the tell-tale color in her
cheeks, but he would not permit it. "Answer me," he insisted. "Say you
do not love me and I will never bother you again."
At last the eyes were lifted, and in their light George read his answer.
"All right," he said, picking up the whip, "I knew you could not lie;
you do love me, and I'll never stop asking you to be my wife.
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