or my mother's sake," he said.

"Then you will go there now for my sake," she said deliberately.

He looked up quickly my little

"Little Bernardine," he cried, "my Little Bernardine--is it possible
that you care what becomes of me?"

She had been leaning against the counter, and now she raised herself,
and stood erect, a proud, dignified little figure.

"Yes, I do care," she said simply, and with true earnestness. "I care
with all my heart. And even if I did not care, you know you would not
be free. No one is free. You know that better than I do. We do not
belong to ourselves: there are countless people depending on us, people
whom we have never seen, and whom we never shall see. What we do,
decides what they will be."

He still did not speak.

"But it is not for those others that I plead," she continued. "I plead
for myself. I can't spare you, indeed, indeed I can't spare you! . . ."

Her voice trembled, but she went on bravely:

"So you will go back to the mountains," she said. "You will live out
your life like a man. Others may prove themselves cowards, but the
Disagreeable Man has a better part to play."

He still did not speak. Was it that he could not trust himself to words?
But in that brief time, the thoughts which passed through his mind were
such as to overwhelm him. A picture rose up before him: a picture of a
man and woman leading their lives together, each happy in the other's
love; not a love born of fancy, but a love based on comradeship and true
understanding of the soul. The picture faded, and the Disagreeable Man
raised his eyes and looked at the little figure standing near him.

"Little child, little child," he said wearily, "since it is your wish,
I will go back to the mountains."

Then he bent over the counter, and put his hand on hers.

"I will come and see you to-morrow," he said. "I think there are one or
two things I want to say to you."

The next moment he was gone.

In the afternoon of that same day Bernardine went to the City. She was
not unhappy: she had been making plans for herself. She would work hard,
and fill her life as full as possible. There should be no room for
unhealthy thought. She would go and spend her holidays in Petershof.
There would be pleasure in that for him and for her. She would tell him
so to-morrow. She knew he would be glad.

"Above all," she said to herself, "there shall be no room for unhealthy
thought. I must cultivate my garden."

That was w