t it has
seemed otherwise; and now I would lay down my life to restrain these
words, to be worthy of the love I renounce. Some other and better man
must win what I have been too weak to keep. This afternoon has proved to
me that I do not belong exclusively to you."

Was I base and unfeeling, or only weak, as I had said? Frank Darry
turned away, and walked to the long French window, looking out in the
moonlight upon the very spot, perhaps, where I had so passionately
declared my love. I could see her tremble with emotion. Yet I dared not
speak or go to her. Perhaps five minutes passed,--it might have been an
hour,--when, pale, but composed, she came to the sofa, upon which I had
thrown myself.

"You love Annie Bray, then, Sandy?" she asked, calmly.

"No," I answered, "I do not love her; but I feel that I have done
violence to what might have grown into love between us. I do not intend
to see her. I do not wish to ask for what would assuredly not be
granted. I desire only to go away, to be alone and quiet."

"You are, indeed, forever rushing to extremes, Sandy," she said, slowly.
"We have both done wrong: I, in tempting you, without, of course, a
thought of self," she added, proudly, "to set aside this first and
strongest interest; and you, in your acceptance of fascination as love.
We have done wrong; but you are now right, for you are true. Let me be
so also. I consider it no disgrace to my womanhood to admit the pain
your avowal gives me, yet I thank you for making it. Remember, Sandy, if
a true affection spring up within you, do not crush it from a morbid
remembrance of this: it would be a poor revenge for me to desire."

She spoke sadly. I could not reply to her. Such generosity was, indeed,
like coals of fire on my head. Say as I might to myself that her strong
will had held me spellbound,--reason as I might that it was only because
she had developed, made me, as it were, that this motherly, yearning,
protecting love had been lavished upon me,--there was still the fact,
that this rich, strong nature had given of its best treasure in answer
to my passionate pleading, had wasted it on me.

"Frank Darry," I said, "why I do not entirely love what I completely
reverence and admire I cannot tell. To live without you seems like
drifting through life without aim or guide. I would gladly think that
one who suffered through my joy, one far better than I, should yet win
what he longed for."

Then only did her paleness