This time the two met, not so much as lovers, but rather as husband and
wife might meet after long absence and escape from imminent danger.
Martha Deane knew how cruel and bitter Gilbert's fate must seem to his
own heart, and she resolved that all the cheer which lay in her buoyant,
courageous nature should be given to him. Never did a woman more sweetly
blend the tones of regret and faith, sympathy and encouragement.

"The time has come, Gilbert," she said at last, "when our love for each
other must no longer be kept a secret--at least from the few who, under
other circumstances, would have a right to know it. We must still wait,
though no longer (remember that!) than we were already agreed to wait;
but we should betray ourselves, sooner or later, and then the secret,
discovered by others, would seem to hint at a sense of shame. We shall
gain respect and sympathy, and perhaps help, if we reveal it ourselves.
Even if you do not take the same view, Gilbert, think of this, that it
is my place to stand beside you in your hour of difficulty and trial;
that other losses, other dangers, may come, and you could not, you must
not, hold me apart when my heart tells me we should be together!"

She laid her arms caressingly over his shoulders, and looked in his
face. A wonderful softness and tenderness touched his pale, worn
countenance. "Martha," he said, "remember that my disgrace will cover
you, yet awhile."

"Gilbert!"

That one word, proud, passionate, reproachful, yet forgiving, sealed his
lips.

"So be it!" he cried. "God knows, I think but of you. If I selfishly