his," she added with the ghost of a smile, "you cannot now pretend,
Luke, after all that you said just now. It is not that my mind wanted
making up. My mind has very little to do with it all. It knows just as
my heart does that I could not now live without you. I'm not talking
nonsense, Luke, and I seem to be too old for mere sentimental twaddle;
therefore, when I say that I could not now live parted from you, I say
it from the innermost conviction of my heart. Sh--sh--dear," she
whispered, seeing that he wished to interrupt her, "don't try and say
anything just yet--not just yet--until I have told you everything. I
want you to remember, Luke, that I am no longer very young, and that
ever since I can remember anything, I have loved you. I must have
loved you even though I did not know it. But if you had never spoken
of love to me, if you had never written that letter which I received
in Brussels, I probably would have been satisfied to go on with my
humdrum life to the end of time; who knows? I might have found
contentment if not happiness, by and by with some other man. We women
are meant to marry. Men are fond of telling us that our only mission
on earth is to marry. But all this possible, quiet content one letter
has dissipated. I could never be happy now, never, save in continuing
to love you. Life to me would be unspeakably hideous without you and
your love. Therefore, I say, Luke, that you have no longer any right
to keep me at arm's length. You have no right, having once come into
my life, having once given substance and vitality to my love, to
withdraw yourself away from me. Love, dear, is a bond, a mutual bond,
as sacred, as binding as any that are contracted on this earth.
You--when you wrote that letter, when first you spoke to me of
love--entered into a bond with me. You have no right to force me to
break it."

The mellow tones of her contralto voice died down in the heavy
atmosphere of the room. They echoed and re-echoed in the heart of the
man, who was now kneeling before Louisa, as he would before the
Madonna, dumb with the intensity of emotion which her simple words,
the sublime selflessness of her sacrifice had brought to an almost
maddening pitch. She stood there near him, so devoted, so noble, and
so pure, do you wonder or will you smile, when you see him with fair,
young head bowed to the ground pressing his lips on the point of her
shoe?

"Luke! don't," she cried in passionate sympathy.

She und