Some seconds elapsed before she answered, and then the words were scarcely audible.
"I trust you."
"Thank God!"
There was a brief pause, and she heard a heavily-drawn sigh escape him.
"Edna, it is useless to tell you how devotedly I love you, for you have known that for years; and yet you have shown my love no mercy. But perhaps if you could realize how much I need your help in my holy work, how much more good I could accomplish in the world if you were with me, you might listen, without steeling yourself against me, as you have so long done. Can you, will you trust me fully? Can you be a minister's wife, and aid him as only you can? Oh, my darling, my darling! I never expect to be worthy of you! But you can make me less unworthy! My own darling, come to me."
He stood within two feet of her, but he was--too humble? Nay, nay, too proud to touch her without permission.
Her hands fell from her crimson cheeks, and she looked up at the countenance of her king.
In her fond eyes he seemed noble and sanctified, and worthy of all confidence; and as he opened his arms once more, she glided into them and laid her head on his shoulder, whispering: "Oh! I trust you! I trust you fully!"
Standing in the close, tender clasp of his strong arms, she listened to a narration of his grief and loneliness, his hopes and fears, his desolation and struggles and prayers during their long separation. Then for the first time she learned that he had come more than once to New York, solely to see her, having exacted a promise from Mr. Manning that he would not betray his presence in the city. He had followed her at a distance as she wandered with the children through the Park; and, once in the ramble, stood so close to her that he put out his hand and touched her dress. Mr. Manning had acquainted him with all that had ever passed between them on the subject of his unsuccessful suit; and during her sojourn in Europe, had kept him regularly advised of the state of her health.
At last, when Mr. Murray bent his head to press his lips again to hers, he exclaimed in the old, pleading tone that had haunted her memory for years: "Edna, with all your meekness you are wilfully proud. You tell me you trust me, and you nestle your dear head here on my shoulder--why won't you say what you know so well I am longing, hungering to hear? Why won't you say, 'St. Elmo, I love you'?"