To-morrow should see us on our way to a new country and a new life. But
you must be very sure indeed."

"Is it because of me that you are staying here?" she asked.

"Upon my honour, no," he assured her. "I must stay here a little longer,
whatever it may mean for me. And so I am content to remain what I am to
you at this minute. I ask from you only that you remain just what you
are. But when the moment of my freedom comes, when my task here is
finished and I turn to go, then I must come to you."

She rose suddenly to her feet, crossed the floor, and threw open the
window. The breeze swept through the room, flapping the curtains,
blowing about loose articles into a strange confusion. She stood there
for several moments, as though in search of some respite from the
emotional atmosphere upon which she had turned her back. When she
finally closed the window, her hair was in little strands about her
face. Her eyes were soft and her lips quivering.

"You make me feel," she said, taking his hand for a moment and looking
at him almost piteously, "you make me feel everything except one thing."

"Except one thing?" he repeated.

"Can't you understand?" she continued, stretching out her hand with a
quick, impulsive little movement. "I am here in Henry's house, his wife,
the mistress of his household. All the years we've been married I have
never thought of another man. I have never indulged in even the idlest
flirtation. And now suddenly my life seems upside down. I feel as
though, if Henry stood before me now, I would strike him on the cheek. I
feel sore all over, and ashamed, but I don't know whether I have ceased
to love him. I can't tell. Nothing seems to help me. I close my eyes
and I try to think of that new world and that new life, and I know that
there is nothing repulsive in it. I feel all the joy and the strength of
being with you. And then there is Henry in the background. He seems to
have had so much of my love."

He saw the tears gathering in her eyes, and he smiled at her
encouragingly.

"Remember that at this moment I am asking you for nothing," he said.
"Just think these things out. It isn't really a matter for sorrow," he
continued. "Love must always mean happiness--for the one who is loved."

She leaned hack in the corner of the sofa to which he had led her,
her eyes dry now but still very soft and sweet. He sat by her side,
fingering some of the things in her work basket. Once she held out her
hand and