“I should be glad to know for a certainty, that you _are_ sorry for the fact. It is not pride, Albert,” she continued, in a gentler voice, “but the sense of justice, which makes me wish you to confess that you cheated me, when you gave your love in return for mine. You never loved me grandly—never comprehended how you were loved by me. I never left you because of your infidelity; and for months I tried to reawaken in you something of the tenderness for which I was almost dying. I would have you admit this. Why should there be any misunderstanding? Why should we quarrel like the vulgar, because we are no longer lovers? I can never forget what you have been to me, and would remain your friend under all circumstances.” It seemed to dawn upon Dr. Delano’s mind that the woman for whom he had thrown this pearl away, was very small beside her; but there was nothing of the hero in his nature. He felt a momentary self-contempt at the retrospect of his own conduct—at the cold, dictatorial letters he had returned for Clara’s impassioned appeals; but he had gone too far for anything now but a temporary reconciliation. He had already committed himself to marriage with Ella, as soon as the divorce was granted. Of this fact Clara was ignorant. “I can scarcely believe that it is you, Clara, standing there and discussing our future friendship so coolly,” he said. “No; you think my natural place is at your feet. Love makes us infinitely humble, infinitely dependent. Oh, Albert! you never saw anything but the surface of things. I could not make you understand how I have mourned my dead illusions. When I first knew that my heart had cast off its anchorage in yours, I could have died from grief, only grief does not kill the strong. Sleep but renewed my strength to suffer, as I suffer now—not for the return of your love—I have outlived all desire, all need for that—but from very pity for myself, thinking of the long, long agonies I have endured;” and Clara hid her face in the arm that rested on the mantel-piece and sobbed. This was the supreme moment Albert had desired. He did not believe her own explanation of her sorrow. He approached her triumphantly, and put his arm around her and spoke gentle words. “Thank you,” she said, releasing herself and smiling upon him. “You are very kind to try to comfort me. It is over now;” and as he tried to hold her, she gave him a chilling reproach—“Have you not understood what I have been saying to you, Albert?” “Oh, it is not true, darling; you have not ceased to care for me.”