d.

"Norman," she said, in a low whisper, "my darling, I appeal to you for
my own sake. I love you so dearly that I cannot live away from you--it
is a living death. You cannot realize it. There are few moments, night
or day, in which your face is not before me--few moments in which I do
not hear your voice. Last night I dreamed that you stood before me with
outstretched arms and called me. I went to you, and you clasped me in
your arms. You said, 'My darling wife, it has all been a mistake--a
terrible mistake--and I am come to ask your pardon and to take you
home.' In my dream, Norman, you kissed my face, my lips, my hands, and
called me by every loving name you could invent. You were so kind to me,
and I was so happy. And the dream was so vivid, Norman, that even after
I awoke I believed it to be reality. Then I heard the sobbing of the
waves on the beach, and I cried out, 'Norman, Norman!' thinking you were
still near me; but there was no reply. It was only the silence that
roused me to a full sense that my happiness was a dream. There was no
husband with kind words and tender kisses. I thought my heart would have
broken. And then I said to myself that I could live no longer without
making an effort once more to change your decision. Oh, Norman, for my
sake, do not send me back to utter desolation and despair! Do not send
me back to coldness and darkness, to sorrow and tears. Let me be near
you! You have a thousand interests in life--I have but one. You can live
without love, I cannot. Oh, Norman, for my sake, for my love's sake,
for my happiness' sake, take me back, dear--take me back!"

The golden head dropped forward and fell on his breast, her hands clung
to him with almost despairing pain.

"I will be so humble, darling. I can keep away from all observation. It
is only to be with you that I wish--only to be near you. You cannot be
hard--you cannot send me away; you will not, for I love you!"

Her hands clung more closely to him.

"Many men have forgiven their wives even great crimes, and have taken
them back after the basest desertion. Overlook my father's crime and
pardon me, for Heaven's dear sake!"

"My dearest Madaline, if you would but understand! I have nothing to
pardon. You are sweetest, dearest, loveliest, best. You are one of the
purest and noblest of women. I have nothing to pardon; it is only that I
cannot take disgrace into my family. I cannot give to my children an
inheritance of crime."

"B