My wife!" At this deeply significant word Adele's pleading face rose
vividly before him. Writhing with shame before her reproachful glance,
he cried out: "But I cannot live alone! And then consider--I shall be
able to meet you each day, perhaps each hour, and as I myself develop
in grace of soul I may come to you without any medium. I am not
disloyal to you, Adele. I love this girl, I confess that; but not as I
loved you. You were my true wife, the only spouse I can ever have--you
filled my soul. My love for this girl is that of a father--a teacher.
I need her for--Oh, my Adele, I will confess, before you came back to
me through this child I was weary of the earth, ready to violently end
my anguish. Viola put your hand again in mine--she gave me to hear
your voice. I cannot bear to lose those priceless moments, and yet I
must do so if she goes from me. Am I not justified in desiring her
presence? Come to me; tell me, to-night, what you would have me do. Be
merciful, my angel spouse. Remember my empty, desolate heart. Remember
the greatness of the work I have set myself to do. Oh, my sweet
spirit, if you could only put an arm about my neck _now_, without any
other interposing soul! Come to me, whisper to me--now! Let me know
your presence here as I sit alone and despairing--"

He ceased to pray, and bowed his head upon his desk and waited in an
agony of hope--waited while the darkness deepened and the splendid
eternal song of the river proclaimed the futility and folly of man. A
cricket sang with heart-piercing cheer, as if to say, "I die
to-morrow, but I never despair." But no silken rustle, no whispering
voice came to still the agony welling in bitter sighs from the lips of
the tempted man.

X

CLARKE'S WOOING

Mrs. Lambert was face to face with a decision of almost equal
moment--was, indeed, in the midst of formulating the question which
perplexed her, in order that she might lay it before her invisible
guides for their consideration. She had just written upon a slate
these words: "Shall I take Viola and go East, or shall I send her on
alone?" when Clarke's foot was heard outside her door. Hastily hiding
the slate, she rose to meet her visitor.

He was very pale, and something in his glance made her aware that his
call was of no ordinary intent.

"Where is Viola?" he asked, abruptly.

"She has gone to the street with a friend. She will return soon."

"I am glad you are alone; I want to talk with you.