"You are right! It is hard that when two err one alone should suffer. I should have been wise enough to see the danger, brave enough to fly from it. I was not, and I owe you some reparation for the pain my folly brings you. I offer you the best, because the hardest, sacrifice that I can make. You say love can work miracles, and that yours is the sincerest affection of your life; prove it. In three months you conquered me; can you conquer yourself in twelve?" "Try me!" "I will. Nature takes a year for her harvests; I give you the same for yours. If you will devote one half the energy and care to this work that you devoted to that other,--will earnestly endeavor to cherish all that is womanly and noble in yourself, and through desire for another's respect earn your own,--I, too, will try to make myself a fitter mate for any woman, and keep our troth unbroken for a year. Can I do more?" "I dared not ask so much! I have not deserved it, but I will. Only love me, Adam, and let me save myself through you." Flushed and trembling with delight she rose, sure the trial was safely passed, but found that for herself a new one had begun. Warwick offered his hand. "Farewell, then." "Going? Surely you will stay and help me through my long probation?" "No; if your desire has any worth you can work it out alone. We should be hindrances to one another, and the labor be ill done." "Where will you go? Not far, Adam." "Straight to the North. This luxurious life enervates me; the pestilence of slavery lurks in the air and infects me; I must build myself up anew and find again the man I was." "When must you go? Not soon." "At once." "I shall hear from you?" "Not till I come." "But I shall need encouragement, shall grow hungry for a word, a thought from you. A year is very long to wait and work alone." Eloquently she pleaded with voice and eyes and tender lips, but Warwick did not yield. "If the test be tried at all it must be fairly tried. We must stand entirely apart and see what saving virtue lies in self-denial and self-help." "You will forget me, Adam. Some woman with a calmer heart than mine will teach you to love as you desire to love, and when my work is done it will be all in vain." "Never in vain if it be well done, for such labor is its own reward. Have no fear; one such lesson will last a lifetime. Do your part heartily, and I will keep my pledge until the year is out." "And then, what then?" "If I see in you the progress both should desire, if this tie bears the test of time and absence, and we find any basis for an abiding union, then, Ottila, I will marry you." "But if meanwhile that colder, calmer woman comes to you, what then?" "Then I will not marry you." "Ah, your promise is a man's vow, made only to be broken. I have no faith in you."