ttering tears.

"You shall go," she said fiercely. "I hate myself for acting this way.
It was only because----" She could get no further.

He did not attempt to touch her again. They stood facing one another,
measuring their love.

"I might go," he said at last, as if to himself; "but in going I
should spoil something very precious. You deny it now, but you would
remember your own sacrifice. And then, of course, you would go back
to your work. I should want you to. But it would never be the same
again, never."

"I won't go back."

He shook his head.

"If you didn't, you would never forgive me. Every day you spent here
alone and idle would break one of those fragile bonds that hold us
so closely. If only you hadn't given up South America!"

"I was wrong," she said drearily.

At last he held out his arms.

"Myra," he said, "you mean more than anything else to me. This offer
pleased me; I admit it. But I can work on just as well here. I have
the Cromwell house, you know, and the Newburghs may build soon.
Don't let's think of it again."

She held back a moment, afraid to yield; but there was no resisting
her longing, and she ran to him with a little sigh, which he softly
echoed as he took her and held her close.

They had vowed to live only for one another. The theme of their love
was sublime enough, but the instruments were fallible. Human beings
can rarely sustain a lofty note beyond the measure of a supreme
moment. Emotional as she was in her gratitude, Myra would have kept
on sounding that note through the days and nights. She would not
allow Oliver to forget what he had given up for her sake.

More than ever she sought to associate herself with his work. He was
forced to recognize her personality there. For when skilfully she
led the talk on his plans, she hunted down elusive problems,
grappled with them, and offered him the solutions of a sure instinct.
She did not reckon with his vanity. She was too eager to make up for
a lost opportunity, as she too often explained. He came gradually to
brood over what he now consented to consider a sacrifice. In passing
moments of irritation he even referred to it. He broke out
occasionally in fits of nerves, certain that he would be humoured
and petted back to the normal. He knew well how a frown dismayed her,
how deep a word could strike, what tiny wounds he could inflict. It
would seem sometimes as if one or the other deliberately created a
short, violent scene