the tragic figure in the room, she might have thought so, but
the horror in the eyes and voice of this awakened Sacrifice, struck away
the support of theoretic justification. Great pity for the poor enmeshed
life, helpless there, and in a woman's worst peril,--looking either to
madness, or to death, for an escape--drowned her reason in a heavy cloud
of tears. Long on toward the stroke of the hour, Dahlia heard her weep,
and she murmured on, "You deceived me;" but it was no more to reproach;
rather, it was an exculpation of her reproaches. "You did deceive me,
Rhoda." Rhoda half lifted her head; the slight tone of a change to
tenderness swelled the gulfs of pity, and she wept aloud. Dahlia
untwisted her feet, and staggered up to her, fell upon her shoulder, and
called her, "My love!--good sister!" For a great mute space they clung
together. Their lips met and they kissed convulsively. But when Dahlia
had close view of Rhoda's face, she drew back, saying in an
under-breath,--

"Don't cry. I see my misery when you cry."

Rhoda promised that she would check her tears, and they sat quietly, side
by side, hand in hand. Mrs. Sumfit, outside, had to be dismissed twice
with her fresh brews of supplicating tea and toast, and the cakes which,
when eaten warm with good country butter and a sprinkle of salt,
reanimate (as she did her utmost to assure the sisters through the closed
door) humanity's distressed spirit. At times their hands interchanged a
fervent pressure, their eyes were drawn to an equal gaze.

In the middle of the night Dahlia said: "I found a letter from Edward
when I came here."

"Written--Oh, base man that he is!" Rhoda could not control the impulse
to cry it out.

"Written before," said Dahlia, divining her at once. "I read it; did not
cry. I have no tears. Will you see it? It is very short-enough; it said
enough, and written before--" She crumpled her fingers in Rhoda's; Rhoda,
to please her, saying "Yes," she went to the pillow of the bed, and drew
the letter from underneath.

"I know every word," she said; "I should die if I repeated it. 'My wife
before heaven,' it begins. So, I was his wife. I must have broken his
heart--broken my husband's." Dahlia cast a fearful eye about her; her
eyelids fluttered as from a savage sudden blow. Hardening her mouth to
utter defiant spite: "My lover's," she cried. "He is. If he loves me and
I love him, he is my lover, my lover, my lover! Nothing shall stop me
from say