“She must love you,” said the girl, and was silent a moment as though communing with the deep cry of her own heart; “you must live your lives together for the best. As for me, I only want to help you to be happy.” The man bent his head as though half shamed. His heart was less sacrificial than the girl’s. He had little hope in life outside the green circle of those dusky trees. “I cannot stand between you, dear.” “You will stand above us,” he said, hastily. She sighed and was silent. “Above us—ever. You have a great soul. God knows I shall need the thought of you to help me to play my part.” “I may see you—sometimes?” They looked in each other’s eyes with an involuntary tenderness that was pathetic in the extreme. “Sometimes.” “Oh yes; I could not bare to lose you always. You need not fear me, dear; I shall not weaken you. That which is in our hearts is not of earth but of heaven.” “We have vowed our vow!” “Nor shall we break it. You must be true to her, Gabriel, for she is your wife. I was half tempted once, but now my love is greater than to plot for self. We shall be together in spirit.” “Always.” She bent forward very slightly and looked into the man’s eyes with a gracious self-consciousness that made her face more luminous under her splendid hair. “I want to help you to realize your ideals,” she said. “Can I do that?” “Who else?” “For the good of those unhappy ones whom women pity. You will hold the red wine of joy to the lips of the feeble; you will point to the golden cleft in the heavens. I have learned so much from you that I am no longer a mere egotist. I am ambitious for you, dear. I believe you have great work in the years to come.” Gabriel did not look into her eyes. He was loath to confess, even to himself, that his strength was as nothing without hers, that even she thought too well of him. Yet for her sake and her pride in him he could play the man to the strain of her ideals. Had not Beatrice made Dante Dante? To have quailed and doubted would have shamed the great love that this woman had set like a sun in the firmament of life. “For the thought of you,” he said, “I will do my duty. God help me to be worthy of your pride in this life. And after death—” Her face grew radiant like the face of a saint to whom visions of splendor are unveiled in the infinite. “After life—immortality!” It was not long that year before Gabriel saw the slimed track of the beast, grass flattened by the belly of a creeping thing, toad’s eyes glinting yellow in the dusk. The truth was gradual but none the less sure. The suspicion deepened as the days went by; nor was he left long in the shallow waters of doubt.