"I let you go. I did not dare reveal myself, but I kept my promise. Hate me, Mollie, as you will; despise me, as you must--but try and think how dearly I love you. I would lay down my life for you, my darling Mollie. That would be an easy sacrifice; it remains for me to make a greater one. A divorce shall set you free. I myself will obtain that divorce. No one knows of our marriage--no one ever shall know. I will leave you free--free as the wind that blows--to go forth and make happy a more honorable and deserving man. Only, Mollie, no man ever will love you as I love you!" His voice failed. He turned abruptly away, and stood as if waiting for her to speak. But she never uttered a word. He took her silence for a token of her utter scorn and hate. "Farewell then, Mollie," he said. "I go, and I will never molest you more. The carriage that brought you here will fetch you home again. But before we part forever, let me say this--if you ever want a friend, and can so far forgive me the wrong I have done you as to call upon me for help, then, Mollie, I will try to repair my unpardonable offense." He walked to the door, he turned the handle, he gave one last, despairing look--and what did he see? A little, white hand extended imploringly, and a pathetic little voice, tremulously speaking: "Hugh, don't go!" He stopped, turning ghastly white. "Mollie! For God's sake--" "Don't--don't go, Mr. Ingelow! Don't go, for I forgive you--I love you!" Hugh Ingelow gave one amazed cry--it was more like a shout--and in the next ecstatic moment Miss Dane was in his arms, held there as if he never would let her go. "Please don't!" Mollie said, pettishly. "What do you suppose a person's ribs are made of, to stand such bear's hugs as that? Besides, I didn't tell you to. I only asked you not to mind the divorce--to-day!" "Mollie, Mollie! for Heaven's sake, don't trifle with me! I am nearly beside myself--what with remorse, despair, and now hope. Tell me--can you ever forgive me? But I am mad to ask it, to hope for it. I know what you said to Doctor Oleander." "Do you?" said Mollie; "but then you're not Doctor Oleander." "Mollie!" "But still," said Mollie, solemnly, and disengaging herself, "when I have time to think about it, I am sure I shall hate you like poison. I do now, but I hate divorces more. Oh, Mr. Ingelow! how could you behave so disgracefully?" And then all at once and without the slightest premonitory warning, the young lady broke out crying hysterically, and to do it the better laid her face on Mr. Ingelow's shoulder. And, that bold buccaneer of modern society gathered the little girl close to his heart, like the presumptuous scoundrel he was, and let her cry her fill; and the face he bent over her was glorified and ecstatic. "Stop crying, Mollie," he said at last, putting back the yellow curls, and peeping at the flushed, wet, pretty face. "Stop crying, my dear little wife, and look up and say, 'Hugh, I forgive you.'"