"Sir, I have been very proud and stubborn. Do forgive me!"
He pressed her to his breast, while his tears ran over her face.
"Honey," he said at length, "what a mockery my crime to you has been—to think that you could ever love me! No, I will give you freedom. Dear as your captivity is to me, your cage shall open and you shall fly."
Vesta stepped back at these strange words and waited for him to explain. He continued:
"I will send you to Italy with our child. Your father shall go, too, if you desire. Go from me and these unloved conditions, this hateful bondage and constraint"—his tears flowed fast again, but he let them fall ungrudged,—"find in your music and your noble mind forgetfulness of this unworthy marriage. I can live in the recollection of the blessing you have been to me."
"What!" said Vesta; "do you command me to leave you?"
"Yes. Let it be that. I know how conscientious you are, my darling, but it is your duty to go. A hard struggle is before me: I am deeply embarked in an untried business. Now I can spare the money. Go and find happiness in a happier land."
She went to him again and put her arms around him.
"Leave you?" she said. "What have I done to be driven away? How could I reconcile myself to let you live alone? 'For better or for worse,' I said. God has made it better and better every day."
He held her head between his palms and looked into her eyes, to see if she spoke from the heart.