"Yes, yes; of course you shall go home for a little time if you wish it," he says, nervously. "Not for a little time; forever," I return. A horrible pain is tugging at my heart. "Phyllis," cries he almost fiercely, "what are you saying? You cannot mean it. Forever? Do you know what that means? If you can live without me, I tell you plainly I would rather ten thousand times be dead than exist without you. Are you utterly heartless, that you can torture me like this? Never to see you again; is that what you would say?" Coming nearer, so close that he touches me, while his eyes seek and read with desperate eagerness my face, "Speak, speak, and tell me you were only trying to frighten me." "I cannot. I meant just what I said," I gasp, consumed by a sudden dread of I scarcely know what. "Why do you disbelieve? What other course is open to me?" "Listen,"--trying to speak calmly, and seizing hold of my hands again; "why should you make this wretched story public? As yet, no one is the wiser; you and I alone hold the secret. This woman, this fend, will go anywhere will do anything, for sufficient money, and I can make it worth her while to be forever silent. When she returns to Italy, who then will know the truth?" "The truth--ah! yes---" "Are you not my wife? Has not my love bound you to me by stronger ties than any church laws? Why should this former detested bond ruin both our lives?" "A little while ago you spoke of yourself as an 'over-honorable' man. Is what you now propose honorable or right? Marmaduke, it is impossible. As our lives have shaped themselves, so must they be. I cannot live with you." "Think of what the world will say. Phyllis, can you bear their cruel speeches? It is not altogether for my own sake I plead, though the very thought of losing you is more than I can bear. It is for you, yourself, I entreat. Remember what your position will be. Have pity upon yourself." "No, no! I will not listen to you. I will not, Marmaduke." He flings himself on his knees before me. "Darling, darling, do not forsake me," he whispers despairingly. "Let me go," I cry wildly. "Is this your love for me? Oh, the selfishness of it. Would you have me live with you as---" "Be silent!" exclaims he, in a terrible voice. A spasm of pain contracts his face. Slowly he regains his feet. "You madden me," he goes on, in an altered tone. "I forget that you, who have never loved, cannot feel as I do. Phyllis, tell me the truth; have you no affection for me. Are you quite cold?"