"And I am glad that you have said ’no,’" she said. "I should always have been afraid if it had been ’yes’ that Karlsburg and vegetation had given the casting vote. It is dangerous to treat marriage as an escape loop-hole. Sometimes it means the tragedy of a lifetime." They talked of other things, as people do who have touched on a subject too near the heart’s innermost and untrodden places, but Mrs. Ingestre had unconsciously lifted a corner of the veil. The words "a tragedy of a lifetime" remained ineffaceable, and, though they had been untouched with self-pity or bitterness, Nora believed she understood. From that moment she saw in her mother’s face, words, and acts a new meaning—the revelation of a harsh punishment nobly and patiently accepted. *CHAPTER IV* *OUTWARD BOUND* After the final decision, events moved swiftly in Nora Ingestre’s life. It was almost as though Mrs. Ingestre was afraid delay might develop imperceptibly into a gradual surrender to the protests of her husband and the scoffing criticisms of her son. The former treated Nora’s journey as a sort of soul-contaminating emigration into the land of the Moabites—a matter full of spiritual danger for her, and, incidentally, of annoyance for him. During the six weeks that passed in correspondence between Delford and Karlsburg and in busy preparations, he varied the table conversation with anxious appeals to a watchful, if occasionally inexplicable Providence on behalf of his dearest child and a fretful review of his own crippled condition without her assistance. "God forbid that I should criticise my fellow-creatures," was his usual introductory sentence, "but foreigners are not as we. They have ways and customs which I cannot believe are well-pleasing in His sight. Do not, my child, be led astray by the creeping influence of example; do not surrender the proud and glorious tenets of your country because you see many, less fortunate, following other paths than those you have been taught to tread. They may seem fair, but remember the end is not here. Be careful that a light and frivolous conception of a terrible God does not taint your blood. I shall think of you always, dear child, but most of all on Sundays, in our beloved church, when I shall pray that you too are joining in the universal praise in some suitable place of worship." After which he was wont to remark that his sermon was not yet copied out, and on Nora having offered to perform the task, only too thankful that her soul’s condition should cease to be made the subject for an after-dinner’s conversation, he would draw her to him and kiss her. "What shall I do without my right hand?" he usually added, with a grave and melancholy shake of the head.