Son
of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.'"

"You mean to submit?"

"I do. I married that man of my own free will: driven, maybe, by mean
fears,--but--I did it. I will not forswear myself."

She gained courage as she went on.

"I believe that God Himself, and that our Lord, taught the meaning of a
true marriage as you do,--that without that affinity it is none. The curse
comes to every woman who disregards it. It has come to me. I'll bear it."

"Throw it off. Come out of the foul lie."

"I will live no lie, Paul. I never would have gone with John Gurney as his
wife, if he had claimed me."

"Then you are free to be mine,"--coming a step nearer.

She drew back.

"I don't think He taught that. I cannot go behind His words."

"Grey, I will not drag you one step where your free will does not lead
you. Last night I said, 'I love this woman so well that I will leave her
sooner than drag her into crime.' You shall do what you think right. I
will be silent."

"Good bye, then, Paul."

Yet he did not take the offered hand: stood moodily looking down into the
water, crushing back something in his heart,--the only thing in his life
dear or pleasant, it may be.

"Oh, if women knew what it is to sell themselves! They will marry more
purely, maybe, soon. I believe that Christ made the marriage-vow binding,
Paul, because, though some might break it with pure intent, yet, if it
were of no avail, as it is in those Homes you talk of, and in Indiana,
women would become more degraded by brutal men, live falser lives, than
even now. I'm afraid, Paul,"--with a sorrowful smile,--"men will have to
educate the inner law of their natures more, before they can live out from
it: until then we'll have to obey an outer law. You know how your
Phalansteries have ended."

While she spoke, she gathered her mantle about her. It was a good thing to
talk, fast and lightly, so that he would leave her without more pain. God
had helped her do right. It was bravest, most Christ-like, for her to bear
the loss she had brought on herself, and to renounce a happiness she had
made guilty. But, if women knew--Sitting on the rock by the water's edge,
she thrust her fingers into the damp mould with a thought of the time when
she could lie under it,--grow clean, through the strange processes of
death, from all impurity. If she could but creep down there now, a
false-sworn, unloving wife, out of this man's sight, out of God's sight!

"