bid you
good-night."

She arose, and with a grand sweep of her drapery, moved toward the door.

"Miss Edith," cried he, stretching his hands despairingly after her,
"you must not leave me."

She paused, tossed her hair back with her hands, and gazed at him over
her shoulder. He threw himself on his knees, seized the hem of
her dress, and pressed it to his lips. It was a gesture of such
inexpressible humility that even a stone would have relented.

"Do not be foolish, Mr. Birch," she said, trying to pull her dress away
from him. "Get up, and if you have anything rational to say to me, I
will stay and listen."

"Yes, yes," he whispered, hoarsely, "I shall be rational. Only do not
leave me."

She again sank down wearily upon the lounge, and looked at him in
expectant silence.

"Miss Edith," pleaded he in the same hoarse, passionate undertone, "have
pity on me, and do not despise me. I love you--oh--if you would but
allow me to die for you, I should be the happiest of men."

Again he shuddered, and stood long gazing at her with a mute, pitiful
appeal. A tear stole into Edith's eye and trickled down over her cheek.

"Ah, Mr. Birch," she murmured, while a sigh shook her bosom, "I am
sorry--very sorry that this misfortune has happened to you. You have
deserved a better fate than to love me--to love a woman who can never
give you anything in return for what you give her."

"Never?" he repeated mournfully, "never?"

"No, never! You have been a good friend to me, and as such I value you
highly, and I had hoped that you would always remain so. But I see that
it cannot be. It will perhaps be best for you henceforth not to see
me, at least not until--pardon the expression--you have outlived this
generous folly. And now, you know, you will need me no more. You have
made a splendid reputation, and if you choose to avail yourself of it,
your fortune is already made. I shall always rejoice to hear of your
success, and--and if you should ever need a FRIEND, you must come to no
one but me. I know that these are feeble words, Mr. Birch, and if they
seem cold to you, you must pardon me. I can say nothing more."

They were indeed feeble words, although most cordially spoken. He
tried to weigh them, to measure their meaning, but his mind was as if
benumbed, and utterly incapable of thought. He walked across the floor,
perhaps only to do something, not feeling where he trod, but still with
an absurd sensation that he was taking