“What will become of me?” she repeated, with tears in her eyes. “As soon as I have the money it will be as it was before. The separation will be but temporary—unless you forget me.” “I shall never forget you. I love you.” “Then as soon as I succeed even partially, I shall come back to you. I shall work so hard, it shan't be for long. I will succeed.” And he set his teeth. “I know I shall and it will be no ordinary success when it does come. You have faith in me?” “Yes! yes! but that's so far off! Think of the time we have already waited.” “I know, dear, but I am making every effort. I know, too, that despite all his efforts a man may fail—absolutely—and through no fault of his own. He may get down and never rise, though he struggle ever so hard. There is a savage remorseless quality to life, a cruel indifference to work and worth. This risk we are compelled to take. In any business or profession it would be the same. It does not apply alone to one who thinks he can write——” He was striding back and forth across the room. “Yet I can't bring myself to believe that I am to be one of the failures, all I want is time—time! I know I can do so much. You must have faith in me, Barbara!” “It has been so long,” she said sadly, going to his side and clasping both her hands about his arm, “and I am afraid. I don't quite know of what—but I am afraid.” “Can't you be brave just a little longer—just a little longer?” “I try to be—I really do, but——” “But what?” “I am afraid he wants me to marry Mr. Shel-den. He does not say so, but I know.” And she began to cry again, clinging to Philip the while. “I know it! I know it! and unless you save me I shall be forced into it. I can't stand black looks and constant coercion. I shall yield. I know I shall, and my whole life will be ruined.” “So that's it, is it?” Philip's voice was hoarse and dry. “So that's it? That's what it signifies? He wants to get me out of the road, does he?” And after a brief pause: “Do you like him in the least, Barbara?” “I hate him.” “He has money and all that sort of thing.” “It's nothing to me. I can only care for you.” “Has your father made any positive statement of his preference, Barbara?” She shook her head. “Of course he does not speak of it, but I know.” “Well, I'll go in for work harder than ever, dear—we need not despair, for we are sure of each other.” “But—but—if I don't see you——” “Can't you keep your love alive and not see me?” “I suppose so, but you are so different from me. You don't feel the same.” “I feel with my whole soul, Barbara. Can I do more?” “It breaks my heart to think I am not to see you.” She glanced up into his face. “Not to see you at all—why how shall I manage to endure it?” Her eyes grew wide, filled with a pathetic grief that made him desperate. “And now scarcely a day passes, that I do not catch a glimpse of you.” “It can't be for long, Barbara.” “It may be forever.” This was said in a stifled voice.