"Nor am I to blame. It was inevitable. Curses on a world in which one can err so fatally."
"Can you not be a brave, generous man? If this should go against you—if you will not get well—you promised me to live."
"I will exist; but can one whose heart is stone, and hope dead, live? I'll do my best. No, yon are not to blame—not in the least. Take the whole comfort of that truth. Nor was I either. That Sunday was the day of my fate, since for me to see you was to love you by every instinct and law of my being. But I trust, as you said, you will find me too honorable to seek that which belongs to another."
"Mr. Morton," she said, in tones of deep distress, "you saved this home; you saved Mrs. Yocomb's life; you—you saved mine. Will you embitter it?"
"Would to God I had died!" I groaned. "All would then have been well. I had fulfilled my mission."
She wrung her hands as she stood beside me. "I can't—oh, I can't endure this!" she murmured, and there was anguish in her voice.
I rallied sufficiently to take her hand as I said: "Emily Warren, I understand your crystal truth too well not to know that there is no hope for me. I'll bear my hard fate as well as I can; but you must not expect too much. And remember this: I shall be like a planet hereafter. The little happiness I have will be but a pale reflection of yours. If you are unhappy, I shall be so inevitably. Not a shadow of blame rests on you—the first fair woman was not truer than you. I'll do my best—I'll get up again—soon, I trust, now. If you ever need a friend—but you would not so wrong me as to go to another—I won't be weak and lackadaisical. Don't make any change; let this episode in your life be between ourselves only. Good-by."
"Oh, you look so ill—so changed—what can I say—?"
Helpless tears rushed into her eyes. "You saved my life," she breathed softly; but as she turned hastily to depart she met our hostess.
"Oh, Mrs. Yocomb," she sobbed, "he knows all."