"Why can't we?" I asked. "Do you mean that--that the gods have been
gracious to some other man?"
"No, no," she answered, hastily--almost indignantly, "of course I don't
mean that."
"Then it is only that you don't love me yet. Of course you don't. Why
should you? But you will, dear, some day. And I will wait patiently
until that day comes and not trouble you with entreaties. I will wait
for you as Jacob waited for Rachel; and as the long years seemed to him
but as a few days because of the love he bore her, so it shall be with
me, if only you will not send me away quite without hope."
She was looking down, white-faced, with a hardening of the lips as if
she were in bodily pain. "You don't understand," she whispered. "It
can't be--it can never be. There is something that makes it impossible,
now and always. I can't tell you more than that."
"But, Ruth, dearest," I pleaded despairingly, "may it not become
possible some day? Can it not be made possible? I can wait, but I can't
give you up. Is there no chance whatever that this obstacle may be
removed?"
"Very little, I fear.
Pages:
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366