"You haven’t told me to go away. You can’t do it. I will go after a while, when you are well, but even if you send me away I sha’n’t go very far, and something will always drag me back to you." March remained silent. The wind outside steadily rose and howled wolfishly around the little house. An ilex-tree, which overhung the roof, was beating fiercely upon it, and its strong branches tore at the little house like the claws of a wild beast seeking to destroy it. No, he could not turn her out like a houseless dog! Then Alicia, kneeling by his chair, begged and prayed him to let her stay. March remained silent as much from weakness as from the tumult in his soul. The wind grew fiercer and the night wilder. At last Alicia’s hand timidly sought her husband’s. "If you tell me to go, I will go," she whispered between her sobs, but he could not tell her to go. * * * * * A year later, on a beautiful spring afternoon, Sir Percy and Lady Carlyon were walking together through the park at Washington. Never had Lady Carlyon appeared brighter or lovelier. Health, happiness and beauty radiated from her sparkling face and beautiful dark eyes, and her graceful step and airy movements were in themselves exhilarating. Sir Percy, too, looked like a man whose heart was at rest as he walked by his wife’s side through the woods in which the mystery of the spring was unfolding. "It is just a year," said Lady Carlyon, turning to her husband, "since you got that strange letter from Mrs. March. Remember it was not I but you who gave up the fight. Oh, how much braver are women than men!" "Yes," answered Sir Percy, "there is a time when a man is ready to surrender, but I never saw the time when you, my Lady Lucy, were ready to surrender." "Quite true," replied Lady Carlyon, smiling and glancing at her husband under her long lashes, "but, after all, wasn’t Mrs. March braver than I?" "Perhaps so," answered Sir Percy. "She is altogether the strangest woman I ever knew. I had thought her one of the worst, yet behold she has buried herself in the wilderness with March, has given over all that once seemed essential to her, and has cried quits with the world." * * * * *