So that is settled. I am so relieved, and more tired than I have ever guessed a woman could be. Tired, tired, tired! I'm sure it is the best thing I could do, now; but--Judge Baker is right! What was it he said? "A loveless marriage,"--Oh, well, since I broke Ned Hynes's heart by setting a silly little girl to drive him away, and broke my own by breaking his, I haven't much cared what becomes of me; only to be at peace. It will be a relief to move out of this accursed flat, where I have spent the gloomiest hours of my life. BOOK V. THE END OF THE BEGINNING. (From the Shorthand Notes of John Burke.) CHAPTER I. THE DEEDS OF THE FARM. Sunday, June 13. In three days it will be a year since Helen promised to marry me, and on that anniversary she will be my wife. It is strange how exactly according to my plan things have come about--and how differently from all that I have dreamed. She is the most beautiful woman in the world; she is to be my wife sooner than I dared to hope--and--I must be good to her. I must love her. Did I ever doubt my love until she claimed it five days ago with such confidence in my loyalty? In that moment, as I went to her, as I took her in my arms, as I felt that she needed me and trusted me, with the suddenness of a revelation I knew-- It was hard to meet Ethel--and Milly and Mrs. Baker afterwards. To-day, in preparing to move to our new home, I came across the rough notes I wrote last December, when the marvel of Helen's beauty was fresh to me. As I read the disjointed and half incredulous words I had set to paper, I found myself living over again those days of Faery and enchantment. Custom has somewhat dulled the shock of her beauty; I have grown quickly used to her as the most radiantly lovely of created beings; my mind has been drawn to dwell upon moral problems and to sorrow at seeing her gradually become the victim of her beauty--her nature, once as fine as the outward form that clothes it, warped by constant adulation, envy and strife; until-- But it is a miracle! As unbelievable, as unthinkable as it was on the very first day when that glowing dream of loveliness made manifest floated toward me in the little room overlooking Union Square, and I was near swooning with pure delight of vision. Beautiful; wonderful! She didn't love me then and she doesn't now; but the most marvellous woman in the world needs me--and I will not fail her. I wish I could take her out of the city for a change of mental atmosphere. She shrinks from her father's suggestion of a summer on the farm. But in time her wholesome nature must reassert itself; she must become, if not again the fresh, light-hearted girl I knew a year ago, a sweet and gracious woman whose sufferings will have added pathos to her charm.