Free The Man of the Desert by Grace Livingston Hill Page A

and his face bowed in his hand. She could hear his words distinctly now, but no one else was present, though she searched the darkness carefully.
    “I found her lost out here in the wilderness,” he was saying in low, earnest tones, “so beautiful, so dear! But I know she can’t be for me. Her life has been full of luxury, and I wouldn’t be a man to ask her to share the desert! I know she’s not fit for the work. I know it would be all wrong, and I mustn’t wish it, but I love her—though I mustn’t tell her so! I must be resolute and strong and not show her what I feel. I must face my Gethsemane, for this girl is as dear to me as my own soul! God bless her and guide her, for I may not.”
    The girl stood rooted to the spot, unable to move as the low voice continued with its revelation. But when she heard his plea for a blessing on her, she couldn’t bear it and, turning, fled silently back and crept under the canvas, thrilled, frightened, shamed, and glad all in one. She closed her eyes, and tears of joy fell. He loved her! How the thought thrilled her. How her own heart leaped up to meet his love. She could grasp only that thought for now, and it filled her with an ecstasy she’d never known before. She opened her eyes to the stars, shining as they seemed to be with radiant joy. The quiet darkness of the vast earth about her seemed suddenly to be the sweetest spot she’d ever known. She never thought there could be joy like this.
    Gradually she quieted her heart’s wild throbbing and tried to put her thoughts in order. Perhaps she was taking too much for granted. Perhaps he was talking about another girl, someone he met the day before. Yet it seemed as if there could be no doubt. Two girls wouldn’t be lost out in that desert. There couldn’t—and her heart told her he loved her. Could she trust her heart? Oh, how dear if it were true!
    Her face was burning, too, with the sweet shame of hearing what wasn’t meant for her ears.
    Then came the flash of pain in the joy. He didn’t intend to tell her. He meant to hide his love—and for her sake! And he was great enough to do so. The man who could sacrifice the things other men hold dear, to come out to the desert wilderness for the sake of a forgotten, half-savage people, could sacrifice anything for what he considered right. This fact loomed like a wall of adamant across the lovely way joy had revealed to her. Her heart sunk with the thought that he wouldn’t speak of this to her—and she knew that more than anything else she longed to hear him speak those words to her. A half resentment filled her that he’d told his secret—what concerned her—to Another and wouldn’t let her know.
    She continued to search her heart, and now she arrived at the most disturbing fact of the whole revelation. He had another reason besides care for her why he couldn’t tell her of his love, why he couldn’t ask her to share his life. She wasn’t counted worthy. He put it in pleasant words, saying she was unfit, but he might as well have said plainly how useless she’d be in his life.
    Tears welled up now, for Hazel Radcliffe had never in her petted life been counted unworthy for any position. She hadn’t considered at all accepting the position that wasn’t to be offered her—her startled mind hadn’t even reached that far—but her pride was hurt that anyone would think her unworthy.
    Then over the tumult of her thoughts would come the memory of his voice deep with emotion as he said,
“She’s as dear to me as my own soul,”
sweeping everything else away.
    There was no more sleep to be had for her.
    The stars paled, and the dawn blushed rose in the east. She presently heard her companion return and replenish the fire, stirring about softly among the dishes, and move away again. But she’d turned her head away so he might not see her face, and he evidently thought her still sleeping.
    So she lay and reasoned things out, scolding herself for thinking his words