"I've no right
to ask you to exchange what they offer you for a life like my mother's."

Fulness of emotion lent dignity to his words, but if he had shown
indifference instead of tenderness, it would probably have served him
better. She was so sure of Abel--so ready to accept as a matter of
course the fact that she could rely on him.

"So you want it to be all over between us?" he asked.

"I don't want to be tied--I don't think I ought to be." Her tone was
firm, but she plucked nervously at a bit of crape on the sleeve of Mrs.
Gay's gown.

"Perhaps you're right," he replied quietly. He had spoken in a stiff and
constrained manner, with little show of his suffering, yet all the
while he felt that a band of iron was fastened across his brain, and the
physical effect of this pressure was almost unendurable. He wanted to
ease his swollen heart by some passionate outburst, but an obstinate
instinct, which was beyond his control, prevented his making a
ridiculous display of his emotion. The desire to curse aloud, to hurl
defiant things at a personal deity, was battling within him, but instead
of yielding to it he merely repeated:

"I reckon you're right--it wouldn't be fair to you in the end."

"I hope you haven't any hard feeling toward me," she said presently,
sweetly commonplace.

"Oh no, I haven't any hard feeling. Good-bye, Molly."

"Good-bye, Abel."

Turning away from her, he walked rapidly back along the short grassy
path over the snowdrops. As she watched him, a lump rose in her throat,
and she asked herself what would happen if she were to call after him,
and when he looked round, run straight into his arms? She wanted to run
into his arms, but her knowledge of herself told her that once there she
would not want to stay. The sense of bondage would follow--on his part
the man's effort to dominate; on hers the woman's struggle for the
integrity of personality. As long as he did not possess her she knew
that emotion would remain paramount over judgment--that the longing to
win her would triumph over the desire to improve what he had won. But
once surrendered, the very strength and singleness of his love would
bring her to cage. The swallow flights and the freedom of the sky would
be over, and she would either beat her wings hopelessly against the
bars, or learn to eat from his hand, to sing presently at his whistle.
Had passion urged her, this hesitancy would have been impossible. Then
she would either have s