“I can understand, dearest--heaven knows that I feel how----” “I don’t know how I ever came to agree to--to all that you put upon me--I really don’t.” She had actually interrupted him with her vehemence. It seemed as if she had not heard that he had begun to speak. And her eyes were turned, he could see, in the direction of Pierce Winwood--the man who had sat beside her at dinner and who was now sitting beside Amber Severn. “You agreed to my suggestion because--well, because you knew what you still know--that is, that you loved a man whose hope it is to become worthy of you, Josephine. I admit that I had no right to ask you to listen to me--to hear me tell you that I loved you--when I had nothing to offer you--nothing but years of waiting--years of struggle--years of hope. And now... Josephine, do you wish to be released from your part in the compact which we made a year ago?” “No, no; I do not wish to be released. What, can it be possible that you have so misunderstood me--that you fancy I am the sort of woman who does not know her own mind--her own heart from one day to another?” “I know that you are steadfastness itself--only--if I have placed you in an equivocal position--if you feel that the years of waiting... what I feel exactly, my dearest, is that it would be better for both of us to separate now than for----” “You cannot understand much of my nature if you think for a moment that, after giving you my promise, I would ask you to free me from all that the giving of that promise entailed. But I was thinking that it might be better for us to be frank.” “Have I ever kept anything from you?” “I mean that it might be better if you had gone to my father and told him what were your hopes--your prospects--told him that I had given you my promise, and that we meant that nothing should come between us.” “That would have separated us in a moment--you agreed with me.” “It might have prevented our meeting and corresponding; but if we were sure of ourselves, would it have separated us in reality? The only separation possible would be brought about by either of us loving some one else; and that we know would be impossible.” “Dearest, that is the confession which comes from my heart daily--hourly--giving me strength to annihilate time and space, so that the years of our waiting seem no more than hours.” “Oh, I know my own heart, Ernest; and that is why I feel that what I say is true: even though my father should refuse to listen to us, we should still not be separated. In fact I really feel that there would not be so great a barrier between us as there is now when we meet.” “I think I know how you feel,” he said; but he had not the smallest notion of how she felt. Barrier? What barrier was she thinking of? He had not the smallest notion of what was in her mind--or for that matter, her heart. And it seemed that she knew this for she made an attempt to explain herself.