othing to make it your sport to
break them, and to tempt another to do the same? Can I love a man that
does such things, and coolly maintains it is nothing?'

'You are breaking your marriage vows yourself,' said he, indignantly
rising and pacing to and fro. 'You promised to honour and obey me, and
now you attempt to hector over me, and threaten and accuse me, and call
me worse than a highwayman. If it were not for your situation, Helen, I
would not submit to it so tamely. I won't be dictated to by a woman,
though she be my wife.'

'What will you do then? Will you go on till I hate you, and then accuse
me of breaking my vows?'

He was silent a moment, and then replied: 'You never will hate me.'
Returning and resuming his former position at my feet, he repeated more
vehemently--'You cannot hate me as long as I love you.'

'But how can I believe that you love me, if you continue to act in this
way? Just imagine yourself in my place: would you think I loved you, if
I did so? Would you believe my protestations, and honour and trust me
under such circumstances?'

'The cases are different,' he replied. 'It is a woman's nature to be
constant--to love one and one only, blindly, tenderly, and for
ever--bless them, dear creatures! and you above them all; but you must
have some commiseration for us, Helen; you must give us a little more
licence, for, as Shakespeare has it--

However we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won
Than women's are.'

'Do you mean by that, that your fancies are lost to me, and won by Lady
Lowborough?'

'No! heaven is my witness that I think her mere dust and ashes in
comparison with you, and shall continue to think so, unless you drive me
from you by too much severity. She is a daughter of earth; you are an
angel of heaven; only be not too austere in your divinity, and remember
that I am a poor, fallible mortal. Come now, Helen; won't you forgive
me?' he said, gently taking my hand, and looking up with an innocent
smile.

'If I do, you will repeat the offence.'

'I swear by--'

'Don't swear; I'll believe your word as well as your oath. I wish I
could have confidence in either.'

'Try me, then, Helen: only trust and pardon me this once, and you shall
see! Come, I am in hell's torments till you speak the word.'

I did not speak it, but I put my hand on his shoulder and kissed his
forehead, and th