"I mean, Basil, that I am out of my bondage,--which I thought never could be broken in this world." "Out of what bondage, my love?" Diana paused. "When I went down to Clifton, to Mrs. Sutphen's, do you know, I could think of nothing but--Evan Knowlton?" Diana's colour stirred, but she looked her husband steadily in the face. "I suspected it." "For a long time I could not, Basil. Night and day I could think of nothing else. Wasn't that bondage?" "Depends on how you take it," said the minister. "But it was _wrong_, Basil." "I found excuses for you, Diana." "Did you?" she said humbly. "I daresay you did. It is like you. But it was wrong, and I knew it was wrong, and I could not help it. Is not that bondage of the worst sort? O, you don't know, Basil! _you_ never knew such a fight between wrong and right; between your wish and your will. But for a long time I did not see that it was wrong; I thought it was of necessity." "How came your view to change?" "I don't know. All of a sudden. Something Mrs. Sutphen said one morning started my thoughts, and I saw at once that I was doing very wrong. Still it seemed as if I could not help it." "How did you help it?" "_I_ didn't, Basil. I fought and fought--O, what a fight! It seemed like death, and worse, to give up Evan; and to stop thinking of him meant, to give him up. I could not gain the victory. But don't you remember telling me often that Christ would do everything for me if I would trust him?" "Yes." "Basil, he did. It wasn't I. At last I got utterly desperate, and I threw myself at his feet and claimed the promise. I was as helpless as I could be. And then Basil, presently,--I cannot tell how,--the work was done. The battle was fought and the victory was won, and I was free. And ever since I have been singing songs in my heart." Basil did not flush with pleasure. Diana thought he grew pale, rather; but he bowed his head upon the head of the little one on his lap with a deep low utterance of thanksgiving. She thought he would have shown his pleasure differently. She did not know how to go on. "It was not I, Basil"--she said after a pause. "It never is I or you," answered the minister without looking up. "It is always Christ if anything is done." "Since then, you see, I have felt like a freedwoman." "Which you are." "And then you cannot think what it was to me, and what it is, to smell the roses again. There were not many roses about Clifton at that time in September; but it was the bay, and the shores, and the vessels, and the sky. I seemed to have got new eyes, and everything was so beautiful." Basil repeated his ejaculation of thanksgiving, but he said nothing more, and Diana felt somehow disappointed. Did he not understand that she was free? He bowed his head close down upon the head of his little daughter, and was silent. "I knew you ought to know"--Diana repeated. "Thank you," he said.