Then they faced each other, and he stepped to her side as she leaned lightly on the gate.
"Prue, dear," he said, softly, "it's going hard with me.

God must indeed have a great work reserved for me to try me with such a sacrifice--so much pain where I could least endure it.

I prayed all the night to be kept firm, for there are two ways open--one right and one wrong; but I cannot sell my soul so early.

That's why I wanted to say the last good-bye out here.

I was afraid to say it in there--I am so weak for you, Prue--I ache so for you in all this trouble--why, if I could feel your hands in my hair, I'd laugh at it all--I'm so _weak_ for you, dearest." She tossed her yellow head ever so slightly, and turned the scoop of her bonnet a little away from his pain-lighted face.
"I am not complimented, though--you care more for your religion than for me." He looked at her hungrily.
"No, you are wrong there--I don't separate you at all--I couldn't--you and my religion are one--but, if I must, I can love you in spirit as I worship my God in spirit--" "If it will satisfy you, very well!" "My reward will come--I shall do a great work, I shall have a Witness from the sky.