was going to make a sacrifice
of all her hope of love, upon the altar of stern honor. But he made no
comment, only patted her hand again.

"Well, well," he said. "We shall see, mademoiselle, we shall see. Only
let us hope."

The days and nights of watching, in companionship with Priscilla Gower,
were a heavy trial to Theo. Not that any unusual coldness in the
handsome face was added to her troubles as an extra burden. Both
Priscilla and Pamela were very mindful of her comfort--so very mindful
that their undemonstrative care for her cut her to the heart, sometimes.
Yet, somehow, she felt herself as a stranger, without the right to watch
with them. It was so terrible a thing to stand near the woman she had
innocently injured, and listen with her to the impassioned adjurations
of the lover who had been false, in spite of himself. It seemed his mind
was always upon the one theme, and in his delirium his ravings wandered
from Priscilla to Theo, and from Theo to Priscilla, in a misery that was
not without its pathos. Sometimes it was that last night in Paris--and
he went over his farewell, word for word; sometimes it was his wedding
day--and he was frantically appealing to Priscilla for forgiveness, and
remorsefully anathematizing himself.

They were both together in the room, one evening, when he was raving
thus, when he suddenly paused for an instant and began to count slowly
upon his fingers,

"January, February, March, April, May, June, July. My pretty Theo, what
a mistake it was--only seven months, and then to have lost you. Good
God, my darling!" and his voice became a low, agonized cry. "Good God,
my darling! and I cannot give you up!"

Theo glanced up at Priscilla Gower, mute with misery for a moment. The
erect, black-robed figure stood between herself and the fire,
motionless, but the fixed face was so white that it forced a low cry
from her. She could not bear it a second longer. She slipped upon her
knees on the hearth rug, and caught the hem of the black dress in her
hands, in a tumult of despair and remorse.

"He does not know what he is saying," she cried, breathlessly. "Oh,
forgive him, forgive him! I will go away now, if you think I ought. He
knows that you are better than I am. I will go away, and you will make
him happy. Oh! I know you will make him happier than I ever could have
done, even if he had really loved me as--as he only thought he did."

A moment before, Priscilla had been gazing into the