"Your poor, good husband--how tired he is! How patiently you have listened,
and what does it all come to?"

"Think of yourself, not of us," said Mrs. Thorne.

"Oh, it's all over for me. I have had my fight. But you have _him_ to
grieve for."

"Shall you not grieve for him yourself a little?"

The girl sat up quickly.

"If you mean do I give him up without a struggle--I do not. But you need
not say that to him. I told him that it was all a mistake; I did not--do
not love him."

"How could you say that"--

"It was necessary. Without that I should have been leaving it to his
generosity. Now it remains only to show him how little he has lost."

"But could you not have done that without belying yourself? You do--surely
you still care for him a little?"

"Insatiate mother! Is there any other proof I can give?"

"Your hand is icy cold."

"And my face is burning hot. Good-night. May I say, 'Now let thy servant
depart in peace'?"