rable night I left it, was so overcome at your condescension that
I forgot you did not preface it by the usual passionate, 'I love you,'
which more than the marriage ring binds two hearts together. In the
glamour and glow of my joy, I did not see that the smile that was in my
heart, was missing from your face. I was to be your wife and that was
enough, or so I thought then, for I loved you. Ah, and I do now, my
husband, love you so that I leave you. Were it for your happiness I
would do more than that, I would give you back your freedom, but from
what I hear, it seems that you need a wife in name and I will be but
fulfilling your desire in holding that place for you. I will never
disgrace the position high as it is above my poor deserts. When the day
comes--if the day comes--that you need or feel you need the sustainment
of my presence or the devotion of my heart, no power on earth save that
of death itself, shall keep me from your side. Till that day arrives I
remain what you have made me, a bride who lays no claim to the name
you this morning bestowed upon her.' And with a gesture that was like a
benediction, she turned, and noiselessly, breathlessly as a dream that
vanishes, left the room.

"Sirs, I believe I uttered a cry and stumbled towards her. Some one in
that room uttered a cry, but it may be that it only rose in my heart and
that the one I heard came from my father's lips. For when at the door
I turned, startled at the deathly silence, I saw he had fainted on his
pillow. I could not leave him so. Calling to Mrs. Daniels, who was never
far from my father in those days, I bade her stop the lady--I believe
I called her my wife--who was going down the stairs, and then rushed to
his side. It took minutes to revive him. When he came to himself it was
to ask for the creature who had flashed like a beacon of light upon his
darkening path. I rose as if to fetch her but before I could advance I
heard a voice say, 'She is not here,' and looking up I saw Mrs. Daniels
glide into the room.

"'Mrs. Blake has gone, sir, I could not keep her.'"

CHAPTER XIII. A MAN'S HEART

"That was the last time my eyes ever I rested upon my wife. Whither she
went or what refuge she gained, I never knew. My father who had received
in this scene a great shock, began to fail so rapidly, he demanded my
constant care; and though from time to time as I ministered to him and
noted with what a yearning persistency he would eye the door and