down at her feet. "I am not worthy," he
murmured, in real self-abasement.

"No, you are not. But--I love you."

He sprang up. "I _will_ be worthy. You shall do all you think right, and
I--will help you."

"Yes, help me by leaving me."

"For the present--I will go."

"For always."

"Margaret, do not be hard. And now, when I know--"

"You _do_ believe me, then?" she interrupted, with winning sweetness.

"Yes, I believe you! It makes me tremble to think what it would be if we
were married; they _say_ people do not die of joy."

She came out of her trance. Her face changed, apprehension returned--the
old fear and pain. She rallied her sinking courage. "We will not talk of
things that do not concern us," she said, gently. "All my life--that is,
the peace of it--is in your power, Evert, now that you know the truth
about me. But I am sure I have not put faith in you in vain."

"Don't you remember saying to me 'Do you wish me to die without ever
having been my full self once?' So now I say to you, Margaret, do you
wish to die without ever having lived? You have never lived yet with
anything like a full completeness. I am not a bad man, I declare it to
you, and you are the most unselfish of women; you have a husband who has
no claim upon you, either in right or law; Margaret, let us break that
false tie. And then!--see, I do not move a step nearer. But I put it
before you--I plead--"

"And do you think I have not felt the temptation too?" she murmured,
looking at him. "When Lanse left me, over there on the river, don't you
remember that I went down on my knees? It was the beating of my heart at
the thought of how easily after that I could be freed--freed, I mean, by
law--that was what I was trying to pray down. To be free to think of
you, though you should never know it, even that would have been like a
new life to me."

"Take it now," said Winthrop. He grasped her hand.

But she drew it from him. "Surely you know what I believe, what all this
means to me--that for such mistakes as a marriage like mine there is, on
this earth at least, no remedy."

"We'll _make_ a remedy."

Again she strengthened herself against him. "Do you think that a
separation--I will use plain words, a divorce--is right when it is
obtained, no matter what the outside pretext, to enable two persons who
have loved each other unlawfully to marry?"

"Unlawfully--you make me rage! _Lanse_ is the unlawful one."

"That doesn't excuse me."