rolong her sufferings? She does suffer terribly." Upon
this the Duke frowned, but there was more of tenderness in his frown
than in the hard smile which he had hitherto worn. "I do not know
whether you see it all." He well remembered all that he had seen when
he and Mary were travelling together. "I see it; and I do not pass
half an hour with her without sorrowing for her." On hearing this he
sighed and turned his face away. "Girls are so different! There are
many who though they be genuinely in love, though their natures are
sweet and affectionate, are not strong enough to support their own
feelings in resistance to the will of those who have authority over
them." Had it been so with his wife? At this moment all the former
history passed through his mind. "They yield to that which seems to
be inevitable, and allow themselves to be fashioned by the purposes
of others. It is well for them often that they are so plastic.
Whether it would be better for her that she should be so I will not
say."

"It would be better," said the Duke doggedly.

"But such is not her nature. She is as determined as ever."

"I may be determined too."

"But if at last it will be of no use,--if it be her fate either to be
married to this man or die of a broken heart--"

"What justifies you in saying that? How can you torture me by such a
threat?"

"If I think so, Duke, I am justified. Of late I have been with her
daily,--almost hourly. I do not say that this will kill her now,--in
her youth. It is not often, I fancy, that women die after that
fashion. But a broken heart may bring the sufferer to the grave after
a lapse of many years. How will it be with you if she should live
like a ghost beside you for the next twenty years, and you should
then see her die, faded and withered before her time,--all her life
gone without a joy,--because she had loved a man whose position in
life was displeasing to you? Would the ground on which the sacrifice
had been made then justify itself to you? In thus performing your
duty to your order would you feel satisfied that you had performed
that to your child?"

She had come there determined to say it all,--to liberate her own
soul as it were,--but had much doubted the spirit in which the Duke
would listen to her. That he would listen to her she was sure,--and
then if he chose to cast her out, she would endure his wrath. It
would not be to her now as it had been when he accused her of
treachery. But, nevert