"He made me take an oath to-day." "An oath?" "That I would not leave him while he lived." "And you could do that?" "I could do nothing else. He's a sick man, Carleton. The doctors shake their heads when they leave him. He will not live a year." "A year? But that's an eternity! Can you wait, can I wait a year?" "He loves me and I owe everything to him. Next week we go to Nice. These are days of parting for you and me, Carleton." Parting! What word more cruel. She saw that it shook him, and held her breath for his promise that she should not be long alone. But it did not come. He was taking time to think. She hardly understood his doing this. Surely, his mother must be very difficult and he a most considerate son. She knew he loved her; perhaps never with a more controlling passion than at this moment of palpitating silence. As she smiled, he caught her to his breast. "We have yet a week," he cried, and left her hurriedly, precipitately. * * * * * It was their last ride and they had gone far--too far, Ermentrude thought, for a day so chilly and a sky so threatening. They had entered gorges; they had skirted mountain streams, had passed a village, left a ruined tower behind, and were still facing eastward, as if Lucerne had no further claims upon them and the world was all their own. As the snows of the higher peaks burst upon their view, she made an attempt to stop this seeming flight. "My uncle," she said. "He will be counting the hours. Let us go back." Then Carleton Roberts spoke. "Another mile," he whispered, not because he feared being overheard by their driver, but because Love's note is instinctively low. "You are cold; we shall find there a fire, and dinner--and--Listen, Ermentrude,--a minister ready to unite us. We are going back, man and wife." "Carleton!" "Yes, dear, it is quite understood. Letters are urging my return to New York. Your uncle is holding you here. I cannot face an uncertain separation. I must feel that you are mine beyond all peradventure--must be able to think of you as my wife, and that will hold us both and make it proper for you to come to me if I cannot come to you, the moment you are free to go where you will." "But why this long ride, this far-away spot? Why couldn't a minister be found in Lucerne? Is our marriage to be as secret as our engagement? Is that what you wish, Carleton?" "Yes, dear; for a little while, just for a little while, till I have seen my mother, and rid our way of every obstacle to complete happiness. It will be better. When one has promised to love _forever_, what are a few weeks or months. Make me happy, dear. You have it in your power to do so. Happy! When once I can whisper 'wife,' the world will not hold a happier man than I." Did she yield because of her own great longing? No, it was by that phrase he caught her: _The world will not hold a happier man than I_. * * * * *