"Thou hast pined, thou hast suffered," said he, mournfully: "and I,
who would shed my life's blood to take one from thy sorrows, or add to
one of thy joys, have been afar, unable to comfort, perhaps only a
cause of thy woe."

"No, Harold," said Edith, faintly, "never of woe; always of comfort,
even in absence. I have been ill, and Hilda hath tried rune and charm
all in vain. But I am better, now that Spring hath come tardily
forth, and I look on the fresh flowers, and hear the song of the
birds."

But tears were in the sound of her voice, while she spoke.

"And they have not tormented thee again with the thoughts of the
convent?"

"They? no;--but my soul, yes. O Harold, release me from my promise;
for the time already hath come that thy sister foretold to me; the
silver cord is loosened, and the golden bowl is broken, and I would
fain take the wings of the dove, and be at peace."

"Is it so?--Is there peace in the home where the thought of Harold
becomes a sin?"

"Not sin then and there, Harold, not sin. Thy sister hailed the
convent when she thought of prayer for those she loved."

"Prate not to me of my sister!" said Harold, through his set teeth.
"It is but a mockery to talk of prayer for the heart that thou thyself