weakness, his pathetic jealousy for that self above self,---the child
one can do no more than grieve for this side the grave. She had come to
herself only to face the consciousness of a secret motive which robbed
her confession of all moral value. Repentance, that would annul her base
bargain now that the costs began to outweigh the advantages, was gilt
edged, was a luxury; she was ashamed to buy back her freedom on such terms.

"Let it be as you say," she assented; "but only because you ask it. It will
not be wrong, will it, if I do it for you?"

"I hope not," returned Mr. Withers. "The motive, in a silence of this kind
that can harm no one, must make a difference, I should say."

So it was settled; and Daphne felt the weight of her promise, which the
irony of justice had fastened upon her, as a millstone round her neck
for life; she was still young enough to think that whatever is must
last forever. They sat in silence, but neither felt that the other was
satisfied. Mr. Withers knew that Daphne was not lightened of her trouble,
nor was he in his heart content with the point he had gained. The unwonted
touch of self-assertion it had called for rested uneasily on him; and he
could not but own that he had made himself Daphne's apologist, which no
confessor ought to be, in this disguise by which he named the deception he
was now helping her to maintain.

After a time, when Daphne had called his attention to the fact, he agreed
that it was indeed strange their companions did not return; they had been
gone an hour or more to find a spring said to be not half a mile away.

Daphne proposed to climb the grade and see if they were yet in sight, Mr.
Withers consenting. Indeed, under the stress of his thoughts, her absence