t of the question. It was quite a
new idea to me. Yes, I began to see in truer proportions the kind of
suffering he had suffered, the kind of trials he had gone through, and
my breath failed at the idea. When they pointed at him I must not say,
"It is a lie; he is as honest as you." It was a solemn prospect. It
overpowered me.

"You quail before that?" said he, gently, after a pause.

"No; I realize it. I do not quail before it," said I, firmly. "But," I
added, looking at him with a new element in my glance--that of awe--"do
you mean that for five years you have effaced yourself thus, knowing all
the while that you were not guilty?"

"It was a matter of the clearest duty--and honor," he replied, flushing
and looking somewhat embarrassed.

"Of duty!" I cried, strangely moved. "If you did not do it, who did? Why
are you silent?"

Our eyes met. I shall never forget that glance. It had the concentrated
patience, love, and pride, and loyalty, of all the years of suffering
past and--to come.

"May, that is the test for you! That is what I shrink from exposing you
to, what I know it is wrong to expose you to. I can not tell you. No one
knows but I, and I shall never tell any one, not even you, if you become
my other self and soul and thought. Now you know all."

He was silent.

"So that is the truth?" said I. "Thank you for telling it to me. I
always thought you were a hero; now I am sure of it. Oh, Eugen! how I do
love you for this! And you need not be afraid. I have been learning to
keep secrets lately. I shall help, not hinder you. Eugen, we will live
it down together."

At last we understood each other. At last our hands clasped and our lips
met upon the perfect union of feeling and purpose for all our future
lives. All was clear between us, bright, calm; and I, at least, was
supremely happy. How little my past looked now; how petty and
insignificant all my former hopes and fears!

* * * * *

Dawn was breaking over the river. Wild and storm-beaten was the scene on
which we looked. A huge waste of swollen waters around us, devastated
villages, great piles of wreck on all sides; a watery sun casting pallid
beams upon the swollen river. We were sailing Hollandward upon a
fragment of the bridge, and in the distance were the spires and towers
of a town gleaming in the sickly sun-rays. I stood up and gazed toward
that town, and he stood by my side, his arm round my waist. My chief
wi