Passionately as she loved Norman, her young heart had become so inured to sorrow, that she was capable of making a great sacrifice for another’s sake, and at last she decided that for Colonel Falconer’s sake she would bear the burden of a secret sorrow till the day of her death. “Norman believes me dead long ago, and he need never be undeceived,” she thought. “Then, too, he will have our sweet little boy to comfort him, while I will pray for them both every night, and feel that I have done right to sacrifice my one chance of earthly happiness for another’s sake.” Her resolve did not falter, although it had cost her so much to make it, and in the morning, when she went down to breakfast, she was pale as a lily, and the blue circles under her downcast eyes hinted at bitter tears shed in the lonely vigils of the night. Colonel Falconer had come in an hour before from his wild mountain tramp, and appeared at breakfast freshly dressed, but wretchedly pale and weary-looking, with a despairing look in his eyes that it was impossible to hide. The unhappy pair made a slight pretense at eating, then went out on the porch together, and Pansy said quietly: “Let us walk up the mountain road a little way, that no one may overhear what I wish to say to you.” They walked away out of earshot of Charles and Phebe, who had no idea that anything was wrong between their master and mistress, and then Colonel Falconer asked sadly: “Have you made up your mind, dear?” “Yes; I shall stay with you.” He stared at her, speechless with wonder, until the warm color rose to her face; then he exclaimed: “My dear Pansy, how could you do that? I explained to you, did I not, that our marriage was not legal?” Placing her trembling little hand on his arm, she whispered: “I understand all that. What I meant was that--you--should--help me--to secure a divorce--from Norman Wylde--that I might quietly remarry you. It could be done, could it not?” His face shone with happiness and love as he replied: “It would be easy enough, I think; but, Pansy, darling, it would not be right for me to permit this sacrifice on your part.” “I will not permit you to call it a sacrifice. I love you, and I prefer to cast my lot with yours,” she answered truly. CHAPTER XL. A GREAT SACRIFICE. “Heaven help me, for I am scarcely brave enough to refuse this noble sacrifice of yours, Pansy,” groaned Colonel Falconer. “Oh, my little love, are you quite sure you will never regret this--never wish for Norman Wylde and your lost happiness?” Clasping her slender white hands tenderly around his arm, and lifting her sad white face, with all a woman’s tenderness shining out of her soulful eyes, she replied earnestly: