"An oath?" she said, and moved her lips to recall what she might have said and forgotten. "To what? what oath?" "That you will be true to me dead as well as living! Whisper it." "Willoughby, I shall be true to my vows at the altar." "To me! me!" "It will be to you." "To my soul. No heaven can be for me--I see none, only torture, unless I have your word, Clara. I trust it. I will trust it implicitly. My confidence in you is absolute." "Then you need not be troubled." "It is for you, my love; that you may be armed and strong when I am not by to protect you." "Our views of the world are opposed, Willoughby." "Consent; gratify me; swear it. Say: 'Beyond death.' Whisper it. I ask for nothing more. Women think the husband's grave breaks the bond, cuts the tie, sets them loose. They wed the flesh--pah! What I call on you for is nobility; the transcendent nobility of faithfulness beyond death. 'His widow!' let them say; a saint in widowhood." "My vows at the altar must suffice." "You will not? Clara!" "I am plighted to you." "Not a word?--a simple promise? But you love me?" "I have given you the best proof of it that I can." "Consider how utterly I place confidence in you." "I hope it is well placed." "I could kneel to you, to worship you, if you would, Clara!" "Kneel to Heaven, not to me, Willoughby. I am--I wish I were able to tell what I am. I may be inconstant; I do not know myself. Think; question yourself whether I am really the person you should marry. Your wife should have great qualities of mind and soul. I will consent to hear that I do not possess them, and abide by the verdict."