ear anything from you," he replied, at a loss to guess her
meaning.

"The kindest thing I can say, Mr. Hosmer, is, that I hope you have
acted blindly. I hate to believe that the man I care for, would
deliberately act the part of a cruel egotist."

"I don't understand you."

"I have learned one thing through your story, which appears very plain
to me," she replied. "You married a woman of weak character. You
furnished her with every means to increase that weakness, and shut her
out absolutely from your life and yourself from hers. You left her
then as practically without moral support as you have certainly done
now, in deserting her. It was the act of a coward." Therese spoke the
last words with intensity.

"Do you think that a man owes nothing to himself?" Hosmer asked, in
resistance to her accusation.

"Yes. A man owes to his manhood, to face the consequences of his own
actions."

Hosmer had remained seated. He did not even with glance follow Therese
who had arisen and was moving restlessly about the room. He had so
long seen himself as a martyr; his mind had become so habituated to
the picture, that he could not of a sudden look at a different one,
believing that it could be the true one. Nor was he eager to accept a
view of the situation that would place him in his own eyes in a
contemptible light. He tried to think that Therese must be wrong; but
even admitting a doubt of her being right, her words carried an
element of truth that he was not able to shut out from his conscience.
He felt her to be a woman with moral perceptions keener than his own
and his love, which in the past twenty-four hours had grown to
overwhelm him, moved him now to a blind submission.

"What would you have me do, Mrs. Lafirme?"

"I would have you do what is right," she said eagerly, approaching
him.

"O, don't present me any questions of right and wrong; can't you see
that I'm blind?" he said, self accusingly. "What ever I do, must be
because you want it; because I love you."

She was standing beside him and he took her hand.

"To do a thing out of love for you, would be the only comfort and
strength left me."

"Don't say that," she entreated. "Love isn't everything in life; there
is something higher."

"God in heaven, there shouldn't be!" he exclaimed, passionately
pressing her hand to his forehead, his cheek, his lips.

"Oh, don't make it harder for me," Therese said softly, attempting to
withdraw her hand.

It was he