me seems only to deepen a sorrow of
that kind."

"Particularly when it is associated--as in this case--with a certain
self-reproach. In times of trial my pen is my refuge. I could not write
for a year after I had decided--irrevocably as I believed--that Sara and
I could not make each other happy."

"Then you never actually proposed to her? There was never any tacit
understanding?"

"Never. And if there be any part of my conduct in life upon which I can
look with entire satisfaction, it is my behaviour with regard to Sara. I
did not mislead her in any way. I was even over-scrupulous, and
purposely avoided opportunities of meeting. I say this in order that you
may know how very determined a man's will must be--if he does not wish
to be selfish. A course of struggling is miserable indeed. I spared her
any knowledge of my misery."

"She might have been happier had she known of it! Last year she remained
entirely alone; and solitude is full of bad things--it is very
dangerous, however much one is accustomed to it."

"Poor girl! But I could not, in honour, suffer a false impression to be
formed. As a matter of fact, my family wouldn't hear of the match. There
is no denying that they were set on my marrying Agnes."

At last he had been able to mention her. He leant back and relied on his
companion's tact to elaborate the theme.

Pensee murmured--

"Dear Agnes! If there are storms, they won't come from her side. She is
of a very elevated spirit----"

He winced, but she continued--

"Generous, sternly honest, greatly esteemed by every one. Neither pique
nor passion nor petty feelings could ever influence her mind. She is the
most angelic, good woman I ever met--she is one to whom one may
complain, and be a bore. She has such utter patience!"

"You would not be impressed by professions, nor am I very clever at
making them," said he, "but you know, by sympathy, that my affection for
her is--is the heroic feeling of devotion which has also a kind of
exclusiveness----"

He could not finish the sentence.

"It leads you to imagine that you could never survive her loss," said
Pensee gravely. "But need you lose her--as a friend?" Something in his
countenance encouraged her to pursue this train of thought. "Agnes has
the deepest admiration for your qualities. No doubt, you truly realise
the high standard of character which she would hope for in one to whom
she gave her love. You have proved yourself worthy to call out he