ay it not become
possible some day? Can it not be made possible? I can wait, but I can't
give you up. Is there no chance whatever that this obstacle may be
removed?"

"Very little, I fear. Hardly any. No, Paul; it is hopeless, and I can't
bear to talk about it. Let me go now. Let us say good-bye here and see
one another no more for a while. Perhaps we may be friends again some
day--when you have forgiven me."

"Forgiven you, dearest!" I exclaimed. "There is nothing to forgive. And
we are friends, Ruth. Whatever happens, you are the dearest friend I
have on earth, or can ever have."

"Thank you, Paul," she said faintly. "You are very good to me. But let
me go, please. I must go. I must be alone."

She held out a trembling hand, and, as I took it, I was shocked to see
how terribly agitated and ill she looked.

"May I not come with you, dear?" I pleaded.

"No, no!" she exclaimed breathlessly; "I must go away by myself. I want
to be alone. Good-bye!"

"Before I let you go, Ruth--if you must go--I must have a solemn promise
from you."

Her sad grey eyes met mine and her lips quivered with an unspoken
question.

"You must promise me," I went on, "that if ever this barrier that parts
us should be removed, you will let me know instantly. Remember that I
love you always, and that I am waiting for you always on this side of
the grave."

She caught her breath in a little quick sob, and pressed my hand.

"Yes," she whispered: "I promise. Good-bye." She pressed my hand again
and was gone; and, as I gazed at the empty doorway through which she had
passed, I caught a glimpse of her reflection in a glass case on the
landing, where she had paused for a moment to wipe her eyes. I felt it,
in a manner, indelicate to have seen her, and turned away my head
quickly; and yet I was conscious of a certain selfish satisfaction in
the sweet sympathy that her grief bespoke.

But now that she was gone a horrible sense of desolation descended on
me. Only now, by the consciousness of irreparable loss, did I begin to
realise the meaning of this passion of love that had stolen unawares
into my life. How it had glorified the present and spread a glamour of
delight over the dimly considered future: how all pleasures and desires,
all hopes and ambitions, had converged upon it as a focus; how it had
stood out as the one great reality behind which the other circumstances
of life were as a background, shimmering, half seen, immaterial, and
u