by two men, either of whom any woman might be
proud to call husband, putting self away, to which should you cleave?"

"To neither."

Sylvia paled and trembled, as if the oracle she had invoked was an
unanswerable voice pronouncing the inevitable. She watched Faith's
countenance a moment, groping for her meaning, failed to find it, and
whispered below her breath--

"Can I know why?"

"Because your husband is, your lover _should_ be your friend and nothing
more. You have been hardly taught the lesson many have to learn, that
friendship cannot fill love's place, yet should be kept inviolate, and
served as an austerer mistress who can make life very beautiful to such
as feel her worth and deserve her delights. Adam taught me this, for
though Geoffrey took you from him, he still held fast his friend,
letting no disappointment sour, no envy alienate, no resentment destroy
the perfect friendship years of mutual fidelity have built up between
them."

"Yes!" cried Sylvia, "how I have honored Adam for that steadfastness,
and how I have despised myself, because I could not be as wise and
faithful in the earlier, safer sentiment I felt for Geoffrey."

"Be wise and faithful now; cease to be the wife, but remain the friend;
freely give all you can with honesty, not one jot more."

"Never did man possess a truer friend than I will be to him--if he will
let me. But, Faith, if I may be that to Geoffrey, may I not be something
nearer and dearer to Adam? Would not you dare to hope it, were you me?"

"No, Sylvia, never."

"Why not?"

"If you were blind, a cripple, or cursed with some incurable infirmity
of body, would not you hesitate to bind yourself and your affliction to
another?"

"You know I should not only hesitate, but utterly refuse."

"I do know it, therefore I venture to show you why, according to my
belief, you should not marry Adam. I cannot tell you as I ought, but
only try to show you where to seek the explanation of my seeming harsh
advice. There are diseases more subtle and dangerous than any that vex
our flesh; diseases that should be as carefully cured if curable, as
inexorably prevented from spreading as any malady we dread. A paralyzed
will, a morbid mind, a mad temper, a tainted heart, a blind soul, are
afflictions to be as much regarded as bodily infirmities. Nay, more,
inasmuch as souls are of greater value than perishable flesh. Where this
is religiously taught, believed, and practised, marriage becom