chel, we do both feel
that you suit Alick much more than many people who have been far better
liked."

Rachel looked cheered. "Yet you," she faltered, "you have been an
instance of resolute withstanding."

"I don't think I shall be long," murmured Ermine, a vivid colour
flashing forth upon her cheek, and leading the question from herself.
"Just suppose you did carry out this fierce act of self-abnegation, what
do you think could come next?"

"I don't know! I would not break down or die if I could help it," added
Rachel, faintly after her brave beginning.

"And for him? Do you think being cast off would be so very pleasant to
him?"

Rachel hung her head, and her lips made a half murmur of, "Would not it
be good for him?"

"No, Rachel, it is the very sorest trial there can be when, even in the
course of providence, kind intentions are coldly requited; and it would
be incalculably harder when therewith there would be rejection of love."

"Ah! I never said I could do it. I could not tell him I did not care for
him, and short of that nothing would stop it," sobbed Rachel, "only I
wished to feel it was not very mean--very wrong." She laid her weary
head on Ermine's lap, and Ermine bent down and kissed her.

"So happy, so bright and free, and capable, his life seems now,"
proceeded Rachel. "I can't understand his joining it to mine; and if
people shunned and disliked him for my sake!"

"Surely that will depend on yourself. I have never seen you in society,
but if you have the fear of making him unpopular or remarkable before
your eyes, you will avoid it."

"Oh, yes, I know," said Rachel, impatiently. "I did think I should not
have been a commonplace woman," and she shed a few tears.

Ermine was provoked with her, and began to think that she had been
arguing on a wrong tack, and that it would be better after all for Alick
to be free. Rachel looked up presently. "It must be very odd to you to
hear me say so, but I can't help feeling the difference. I used to think
it so poor and weak to be in love, or to want any one to take care of
one. I thought marriage such ordinary drudgery, and ordinary opinions
so contemptible, and had such schemes for myself. And this--and this
is such a break down, my blunders and their consequences have been so
unspeakably dreadful, and now instead of suffering, dying--as I felt I
ought--it has only made me just like other women, for I know I could not
live without him, and then all the r