y, that Rose may not fling her salvation from her."

"But, my dear Henry, if she does, it will not do; it really will not
be prudent to leave New York till the proper time. I promise you to go
with Rose wherever she goes."

"I shall take her out of the way of temptation. When a poor, weak soul
is _in_ temptation, it is too late to reason or entreat; and Rose will
not be frightened again. She must marry Mr. Van Hoosen, or else we
shall return to Woodsome to-morrow. That is all about it."

"I cannot be ready to-morrow. It is impossible to move at a moment's
notice."

"I was at Woodsome last week, and the house is warm and comfortable.
Every necessity can be procured in an hour. I will stay with Rose, and
you can return and arrange for the transmission of your dresses and
such other things as you wish to remove. You know how to manage well
enough, Emma."

"To overdo is always a man's way; and I tell you in this matter, to
overdo is to underdo."

"I am sure I am right, Emma. Ask your heart, and tell me honestly if
you think Rose is in danger or not?"

"I will watch her carefully."

"Then you think she is in danger?"

"Oh, Henry! Henry! What can I say? How can I tell? I love Rose so
dearly! I love her so dearly!"

"So do I love her! I am sorry that I have not looked better after our
little treasure."

"But I cannot--I cannot let her marry. I cannot give her up--and to
that man!"

"If we have been recreant to our duty, Emma, and he is willing to
assume our arrears, and do it for us in the future, we deserve to
endure loss and obligation because we did not honor our office as
parents."

"I am sure I have never had a single thought but for my children."

"Well, well! In the morning we shall perhaps understand things better.
Trouble, like a turbid river, runs itself clear in the night."

They talked thus for hours, but nothing further was reached. And Rose
was just as wretched and restless. As they passed through the
dining-room, which was under Rose's room, they heard her slowly pacing
up and down the floor, though it was then long past midnight. For
Rose's conscience was still very quick, and she was quite capable of
estimating the sin and folly of her afternoon's escapade, so that the
tide of self-reproach went on rising, until she could not struggle
against it. A disgust of all things, but especially of herself,
darkened both the past and the future; and she felt the wretchedness
of a combat where defeat