r me to submit than for you, yet it is very hard
to be obliged to leave you, Guy; it is harder still to leave you to
Flora Bellasys. I hope my jealousy--I _am_ jealous--does not make me
unjust; but I don't think she will make you better, or even happier in
the end. Now do forgive me; perhaps I ought not--"

Guy interrupted her here: he had not stopped her till she began to
excuse herself.

"I must see her once again (the knitting of his black brows omened ill
for the peace of that interview); afterward, on my honor and faith, I
will never speak to her one word, or willingly look upon her face."

O true heart! that had suffered so long, and hitherto unavailingly, till
your life-blood was drained in the struggle, be content, for the victory
is won at last. Never did loyalty and right triumph more absolutely
since those who stood fast by their King in the _dies irae_ of the great
battle saw the rebel angels cast headlong down.

If, in the intense joy that thrilled through every fibre of Constance's
frame, there mingled an element of gratified pride, who shall blame her?
Not I, for fear of being less indulgent than I believe was her Eternal
Judge when, not many days later, she stood before him.

She needed no further protest or explanation; she never thought that,
because her lover had once been entangled, there was danger of his
falling into the net again; she never doubted for an instant--and she
was right. The gaze of the spirit is far-seeing and rarely fallible when
so near its translation as was hers.

As she leaned her head against his shoulder, murmuring, "You have made
me so very, very happy!" there were pleasant tears in the beautiful eyes
that had known so many bitter ones, and had not lost their brightness
yet.

There was silence for some minutes; then Constance spoke again, looking
wistfully, and more sadly than she had yet done, on her companion:

"Do you know, Guy, I have been thinking that yours will not be a very
long life? You are so strong that it seems foolish in me, but I can not
help it."

The faintest glimmer of satisfaction, like the ghost of a smile, came
upon Livingstone's miserable, haggard face: there had been nothing like
it there for many hours; there was nothing like it again for many days.

"You may be right," he said, very calmly. "I trust in God you are."

"Yes," Constance went on; "but I was thinking more than that. I was
hoping that perhaps, for my sake, if not for your own, yo