"I mean no cruelty, dear. But one has no choice when patriotism dictates--when one's country--" "Why, you sha'n't treat me so, disappoint me so! 'Twould be breaking your word; 'twould be a cruel betrayal, no less; 'twould make all your conduct since our marriage--nay, since that very day we promised marriage--a deception, a treachery, a lie; winning a woman's hand and keeping her love, upon a false pretence! You _dare_ not turn back on your word now! If you are a man of honour, of truth, of common honesty, you will let this miserable war go hang, and take me to England, as you promised! And if you don't I'll hate you!--hate you!" Her speech had come out in a torrent of increasing force, until her voice was almost a scream, and this violence had its climax in a hysterical outburst of weeping, as she sank upon a chair and hid her face upon the back thereof. In this attitude she remained, her body shaking with sobs. Philip, moved as a man rarely is, hastened to her, and leaning over, essayed to take her hand. "But you should understand, dear," said he, most tenderly, with what voice he could command. "God knows I would do anything to make you happy, but--" "Then," she said tearfully, resigning her hand to his, "don't bring this disappointment upon me. Let them make war, if they please; you have your wife to consider, and your own future. Whatever they fight about, 'tis nothing to you, compared with your duty to me." "But you don't understand," was all he could reply. "If I could explain--" "Oh, Phil, dear," she said, adopting again a tender, supplicating tone. "You'll not rob me of what I've so joyously looked forward to, will you? Think, how I've set my heart on it! Why, we've looked forward to it together, haven't we? All our happiness has been bound up with our anticipations. Don't speak of understanding or explaining,--only remember that our first thought should be of each other's happiness, dear, and that you will ruin mine if you don't take me. For my sake, for my love, promise we shall go to England in June! I beg you--'tis the one favour--I will love you so! Do, Phil! We shall be so happy!" She looked up at him with such an eager pleading through her tears that I did not wonder to see his own eyes moisten. "My dear," said he, with an unsteady voice, "I can't. I shouldn't be a man if I left the country at this time. I should loathe myself; I should not be worthy of you." She flung his hand away from her, and rose in another seizure of wrath.