eyes the retreating bird. "Then when that time comes," she said lowly,
"when love is no more bought or sold, when it is not a means of making
bread, when each woman's life is filled with earnest, independent labour,
then love will come to her, a strange, sudden sweetness breaking in upon
her earnest work; not sought for, but found. Then, but not now--"

Waldo waited for her to finish the sentence, but she seemed to have
forgotten him.

"Lyndall," he said, putting his hand upon her--she started--"if you think
that that new time will be so great, so good, you who speak so easily--"

She interrupted him.

"Speak! speak!" she said, "the difficulty is not to speak; the difficulty
is to keep silence."

"But why do you not try to bring that time?" he said with pitiful
simplicity. "When you speak I believe all you say; other people would
listen to you also."

"I am not so sure of that," she said with a smile.

Then over the small face came the weary look it had worn last night as it
watched the shadow in the corner, Ah, so weary!

"I, Waldo, I?" she said. "I will do nothing good for myself, nothing for
the world, till some one wakes me. I am asleep, swathed, shut up in self;
till I have been delivered I will deliver no one."