"You have loved and lost, George? You? Irrevocably lost,--are you sure?" "Most irrevocably," he returned grimly. "Her marriage to another makes it even a forbidden hope." "O, George, how strangely the world adjusts things! I have always dreamed of you being possessed with every earthly joy. You of all men deserve it!" she exclaimed. "Then give me what is possible, Alma. To do for you and Harold would give me much joy in life, and help me to overcome a living death!" he said earnestly. "You have suffered so, then?" she asked tenderly, placing her hand on his, affectionately. "More than seems bearable at times. Will we help one another, Alma? For Harold's sake--will you?" His fine eyes were eloquently persuasive. She met and seemed to lose what little resisting power she possessed. "I will, George," she replied simply. George leaned forward and reverently kissed her brow. Then he held her in his arms protectingly. "What will Harold say?" said Alma, with a happy thought at the boy's delight. "He will be satisfied that we belong to the same generation," replied George. CHAPTER XIV. A Contrast--The Husband and the Lover. "Here is a letter for you, Edith. Shall I read it?" Howard asked his wife. Pale and thin she lay outstretched on a couch near him. "Yes, please," answered Edith. Howard tore open the letter and read. "Dear Sister Edith: I am transferred to New York, and will arrive there tomorrow. I can't tell you how glad I will be to be near you a few months. Your letters have been so welcome, but they are not like our good old talks and discussions. I'm hoping you wall be a 'Mormon' yet. I will come to see you, directly I arrive. "Always your loving friend, Betty Emmit." "That fanatical girl back again! I suppose now you're weak, she will influence you." Edith's face flushed. "Please give me the letter, Howard," she said gently, and he obeyed. As he turned to his writing, he did not see Edith kiss the letter, and put it in her bosom. "Dear, sweet girlie," she thought tenderly, "I certainly will love to have you now." When Edith had fallen unconscious in George's arms, the curtain fell upon the first act of her young life--an act untouched by any real agony of living. But just before the curtain fell, the clouds had gathered ominously, and warned her of the storms to come. The blessedness of her unconscious state lasted a long time. For two weeks she hovered between life and death. Howard, upon his return, was filled with horror. He was more than grateful that George had not left her side one moment of that first day, or night. He begged him to take the case. George with an absorbing intensity, studied her slightest symptom. His was the passionate desire to save her life. He succeeded, but the shock had destroyed all hopes of motherhood.