“I know how long it will be—until we meet in the spirit world!” thought Mrs. Helmstedt; but she spoke not, only looked lovingly, mournfully in the face of her departing husband.
“Marguerite, shall not this painful feud of years come to an end between us?”
“There is not, there never has been, there never can be a feud between us, dearest Philip. It was my bitter misfortune not to be able to comply with your just requirements. In view of that, you fixed my fate and I accepted it. There is no feud, dearest husband.”
“Marguerite, I cannot endure the thought of leaving you for so long a time, restricted to the narrow confines of this island, and yet I cannot do otherwise unless——”
“Dearest Philip, I have grown accustomed to confinement on this island, and do not——” She paused abruptly.
“Marguerite, you were about to say that you do not care about it; but you never uttered an untruth in your life, and could not be betrayed into doing so now. Marguerite, you do care; you care bitterly about the restraint that is placed upon your motions. Dear Marguerite, you know the conditions of peace and freedom. Will you not, even at this late day, accept them?”
“Oh, Mr. Helmstedt, had it been possible for me to have accepted these conditions, I should have done so, not for my own advantage, but for your satisfaction, thirteen years ago! Since that time nothing has happened to render the impossible possible.”
“Then I am to understand, Marguerite, that you still hold out in your resistance?” said Mr. Helmstedt, more gloomily than angrily.
She did not reply at first, except by a steady, mute, appealing look from her dark, mournful eyes. But as Mr. Helmstedt still looked for a reply, she said:
“Dear Philip, as you remarked, we are just about to part, and Heaven only knows if ever we shall meet again on earth. Let us not have hard feelings toward each other.”