this man's noble simplicity of trust. She bent towards him, leaning her head one moment on his hands, where he stood above her—that bright-haired pride-crowned head, that had borne itself with such imperial courage above the massacre of Antina, above the priestly herd of the monastic hall, was lowered with the abasement of a brave and erring nature, struck to the core with self-chastisement, and refusing to accept one shade of worship of which it knew itself unworthy.
"Listen!" she said, softly, while a bitterness, that was to herself not to him, lent a strange thrill and force to the low-murmured words—"listen! I have said I love you—love you as I never thought to love—my noblest, bravest, best! But it is because I do, that I tell you I am unworthy of your generous faith—that I tell you there had better be separation between us now and for ever. I will not urge on you to leave me because while with me you share my danger. You are too brave to be insulted with such a plea; but I do say, forget that I have ever confessed you have grown dear to me, abandon every hope that I can bring you any happiness; do as I bade you when last we parted—hate me, scorn me, condemn me, if you will; do anything, save trust your happiness to me! There are many women who
