closed space where the fountain basin
was; and by tacit consent they seated themselves upon it. Miriam gave an
exclamation of surprise. "The water is gone!" she said. "How strange!"

"Perhaps it has gone to meet us at our rendezvous in the desert.--No: if
I tell your father, I should be unfaithful to my employers. But there's
another alternative: I can resign my appointment, and let my place be
taken by another."

"And give up your chance of a fortune? You mustn't do that."

"What is it to you what becomes of me?"

"I wish nothing but good to come to you," said she, in a low voice.

"I have never wanted to have a fortune until now. And I must tell you
the reason of that, too. A man without a fortune does very well by
himself. He can knock about, and live from hand to mouth. But when he
wants to live for somebody else,--even if he has only a very faint hope
of getting the opportunity of doing it,--then he must have some settled
means of livelihood to justify him. So I say I am in a difficult
position. For if I give this up, I must go away; and if I go away, I
must give up even the little hope I have."

"Don't go away," said Miriam, after a pause.

"Do you know what you are saying?" He hesitated a moment, looking at her
as she looked down at the empty basin. "My hope was that you might love
me; for I love you, to be my wife."

The color slowly rose in Miriam's face: at length she hid it in her
hands. "Oh, what is it?" she said, almost in a whisper. "I have known
you only three days. But it seems as if I must have known you before.
There is something in me that is not like myself. But it is the deepest
thing in me; and it loves you: yes, I love you!"

Her hands left her face, and there was a light in her eyes which made
Freeman, in the midst of his rejoicing, feel humble and unworthy. He
felt himself in contact with something pure and sacred. At the same
moment, the recollection recurred to him of the figure he had seen the
night before, with the features of Miriam. Was it she indeed? Was this
she? To doubt the identity of the individual is to lose one's footing on
the solid earth. For the first time it occurred to him that this doubt
might affect Miriam herself. Was she obscurely conscious of two states
of being in herself, and did she therefore fear to trust her own
impulses? But, again, love is the master-passion; its fire fuses all
things, and gives them unity. Would not this love that they confessed
for each