Mary listened with downcast eyes,
presented the outlines of the story veraciously; she told of Everard's
wish to dispense with the legal bond, of her own indecision, and of the
issue.

'When your letter came, could I very well have acted otherwise than I
did? It was not a flat refusal to believe him; all I asked was that
things should be cleared up before our marriage. For his own sake he
ought to have willingly agreed to that. He preferred to take my request
as an insult. His unreasonable anger made me angry too. And now I don't
think we shall ever meet again unless as mere acquaintances.'

'I think,' commented the listener, 'that he behaved with extraordinary
impudence.'

'In the first proposal? But I myself attach no importance to the
marriage ceremony.'

'Then why did you insist upon it?' asked Mary, with a smile that might
have become sarcastic but that her eye met Rhoda's.

'Would you have received us?'

'In the one case as readily as in the other.'

Rhoda was silent and darkly thoughtful.

'Perhaps I never felt entire confidence in him.'

Mary smiled and sighed.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE BURDEN OF FUTILE SOULS

'My own dearest love, if I could but describe to you all I have
suffered before sitting down to write this letter! Since our last
meeting I have not known one hour of quietness. To think that I missed
you when you called and left that note--for it was you yourself, was it
not? The journey was horrible, and the week that I have spent here--I
assure you I have not slept for more than a few minutes at a time, and
I am utterly broken down by misery. My darling'--etc. 'I regard myself
as a criminal; if _you_ have suffered a thousandth part of what _I_
have, I deserve any punishment that could be devised. For it has all
been my fault. Knowing as I did that our love could never end in
happiness, it was my duty to hide what I felt. I ought never to have
contrived that first meeting alone--for it _was_ contrived; I sent my
sisters away on purpose. I ought never'--etc. 'The only reflection that
can ever bring me comfort is that our love has been pure. We can always
think of each other without shame. And why should this love ever have
an end? We are separated, and perhaps shall never see each other again,
but may not our hearts remain for ever true? May we not think'--etc.
'If I were to bid you leave your home and come to me, I should be once
more acting with base selfishness. I should ruin your li