ecision; it must be yes or no. Which
shall it be?"

The sudden appeal--made, too, as if though it was nothing--that terrible
yes or no, which to her made all the difference of living or only half
living, of feeling the sun in or out of the world. What could she
answer? What could she answer? Trembling violently, she yet answered,
in a steady voice, "You must decide for yourself. A woman can not
understand a man."

"Nor a man a woman, thoroughly. There is only one thing which helps both
to comprehend one another."

One thing! she knew what it was. Surely so did he. But that strange
distrustfulness of which he had spoken, or the hesitation which the
strongest and bravest men have at times, came between.

"Oh, the little more, and how much it is!
Oh, the little less, and what worlds away!"

If, instead of looking vaguely out upon the sea, he had looked into this
poor girl's face; if, instead of keeping silence, he had only spoken one
word! But he neither looked nor spoke, and the moment passed by. And
there are some moments which people would sometimes give a whole lifetime
to recall and use differently; but in vain.

"My engagement is only for three years," he resumed; "and, if alive, I
mean to come back. Dead or alive, I was going to say, but you would not
care to see my ghost, I presume? I beg your pardon: I ought not to make
a joke of such serious things."

"No, you ought not."

She felt herself almost speechless, that in another minute she might
burst into sobs. He saw it--at least he saw a very little of it, and
misinterpreted the rest.

"I have tired you. Take my arm. You will soon be at home now." Then,
after a pause, "You will not be displeased at any thing I have said? We
part friends? No, we do not part; I shall see you every day for a week,
and be able to tell you all particulars of my journey, if you care to
hear."

"Thank you, yes--I do care."

They stood together, arm in arm. The dews were falling; a sweet, soft
lilac haze had begun to creep over the sea--the solemn; far-away sea that
he was so soon to cross. Involuntarily she clung to his arm. So near,
yet so apart! Why must it be? She could have borne his going away, if
it was for his good, if he wished it; and something whispered to her that
this sudden desire to get rich was not for himself alone. But, oh! If he
would only speak! One word--one little word! After that, any thing
might come--the separation of l