atest sacrifice a woman could make."

"Your love has saved me," she said, gently--"has shown me what is right
and what is wrong--has cleared the mist from my eyes. But for that--oh,
Vane, I hate to think what I should have been!"

"I wish it were possible to give up the appointment," he remarked,
musingly.

"I would not have you do it, Vane. Think of Lady St. Lawrence--how she
has worked for it. Remember, it is your only chance of ever being what
she wishes to see you. You must not give it up."

"But how can I leave you, Pauline?"

"If you remain in England, it will make but little difference," she
said. "I can never leave Lady Darrell while she lives."

"But, Pauline, it may be four, five, or six years before I return, and
all that time I shall never see you."

She wrung her hands, but no murmur passed her lips, save that it was her
fault--all her fault--the price of her sin.

"Vane," she said, "you must not tell Lady Darrell what you came to ask
me. She must know that you are here only to say good-by. I would rather
keep her in ignorance; she will be the happier for not knowing."

Was ever anything seen like that love and that sorrow--the love of two
noble souls, two noble hearts, and the sorrow that parting more bitter
than death brought upon them? Even Miss Hastings did not know until long
after Sir Vane was gone of the sacrifice Pauline had made in the brave
endeavor to atone for her sin.

She never forgot the agony of that parting--how Sir Vane stood before
them, pale, worn, and sad, impressing one thing on them all--care for
his darling. Even to Lady Darrell, the frail, delicate invalid, whose
feeble stock of strength seemed to be derived from Pauline, he gave many
charges.

"It will be so long before I see her again," he said; "but you will keep
her safely for me."

"I almost wonder," said Lady Darrell, "why you do not ask Pauline to
accompany you, Sir Vane. For my own sake, I am most selfishly glad that
you have not done so--I should soon die without her."

They looked at each other, the two who were giving up so much for her,
but spoke no word.

Sir Vane was obliged to return to London that same day. He spoke of
seeing Pauline again, but she objected--it would only be a renewal of
most bitter and hopeless sorrow. So they bade each other farewell under
the lime trees. The bitter yet sweet memory of it lasted them for life.

Miss Hastings understood somewhat of the pain it would cause, but with