pected a tempestuous outbreak at his decision; this entire
submission touched him, for in the last words of her brief lament he
detected the accent of truth, and longed to answer it. He paused,
searching for the just thing to be done. Ottila, with hidden face,
watched while she wept, and waited hopefully for the relenting sign. In
silence the two, a modern Samson and Delilah, waged the old war that has
gone on ever since the strong locks were shorn and the temple fell; a
war which fills the world with unmated pairs and the long train of evils
arising from marriages made from impulse, and not principle. As usual,
the most generous was worsted. The silence pleaded well for Ottila, and
when Warwick spoke it was to say impetuously--

"You are right! It is hard that when two err one alone should suffer. I
should have been wise enough to see the danger, brave enough to fly from
it. I was not, and I owe you some reparation for the pain my folly
brings you. I offer you the best, because the hardest, sacrifice that I
can make. You say love can work miracles, and that yours is the
sincerest affection of your life; prove it. In three months you
conquered me; can you conquer yourself in twelve?"

"Try me!"

"I will. Nature takes a year for her harvests; I give you the same for
yours. If you will devote one half the energy and care to this work that
you devoted to that other,--will earnestly endeavor to cherish all that
is womanly and noble in yourself, and through desire for another's
respect earn your own,--I, too, will try to make myself a fitter mate
for any woman, and keep our troth unbroken for a year. Can I do more?"

"I dared not ask so much! I have not deserved it, but I will. Only love
me, Adam, and let me save myself through you."

Flushed and trembling with delight she rose, sure the trial was safely
passed, but found that for herself a new one had begun. Warwick offered
his hand.

"Farewell, then."

"Going? Surely you will stay and help me through my long probation?"

"No; if your desire has any worth you can work it out alone. We should
be hindrances to one another, and the labor be ill done."

"Where will you go? Not far, Adam."

"Straight to the North. This luxurious life enervates me; the pestilence
of slavery lurks in the air and infects me; I must build myself up anew
and find again the man I was."

"When must you go? Not soon."

"At once."

"I shall hear from you?"

"Not till I come."

"But I