d look,
"but I do not know of it."

"Oh, Richard, do not be angry with me. Think how hard it is for me
always to be disappointing you. I have a great deal of trouble!"

"Yes, Pauline, I know you have," he said, sitting down by me, and taking
my hand in a repentant way. "You see I'm selfish, and only looked at my
own disappointment just that minute. I thought I had not any hope that
you might not mind the idea of marrying me; but you see, after all, I
had. I believe I must have fancied that you were getting over your
trouble: you have seemed so much brighter lately. But now I know the
truth; and now I know that what I do is simply sacrifice and duty. A man
must be a fool who looks for pleasure in marrying a woman who has no
love for him. And I say now, in the face of it all, marry me, Pauline,
if you can bring yourself to do it. I am the only approach to a friend
that you have in the world. As your husband, I can care for you and
protect you. You are young, your character is unformed, you are ignorant
of the world. You have no home, no protection, literally none, and I am
afraid to trust you. You need not be angry if I say so. I think I've
earned the right to find some faults in you. I don't expect you to love
me. I don't expect to be particularly happy; but there are a good many
ways of serving God and doing one's duty; and if we try to serve him and
to live for duty, it will all come out right at last. You will be a
happier woman, Pauline, if you do it, than if you rebel against it, and
try to find some other way, and put yourself in a subordinate place, or
a place of dependence, and waste your life, and expose yourself to
temptation. No, no, Pauline, I cannot see you do it. Heaven knows, I
wish you had somebody else to direct you. But it has all come upon me,
and I must do the best I can. I think any one else would advise the
same, who had the same means of judging."

"I will do just what you think best," I said, almost in a whisper,
getting up.

"That is right," he answered, in a husky voice, rising too, and putting
my cloak about my shoulders, which had fallen off. "You will see it
will be best."

CHAPTER XXII.

A GREAT DEAL TOO SOON.

But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governed with a goodly modesty,
That suffers not a look to glance away,
Which may let in a little thought unsound.

_Spenser_.

Vouloir ce que Dieu veut est la seule science
Qui