Lord Arleigh raised his head from his breast.

His wife was kneeling sobbing at his feet.
"Norman," she said, in a broken voice, "I yield, I submit.

You know best, dear.

In truth, I am not worthy to be your wife.

I urge no claim on you; but, my darling, must I leave you?
You are the very light of my life, heart of my heart, soul of my soul--must I leave you?
Could I not remain here as your servant, your slave, the lowliest in your house--somewhere near, where I may hear the tones of your voice, the sound of your footsteps--where I may stand sometimes at the window and see you ride away--where I may render you little attentions such as loving wives render?
Oh, Norman, be merciful and grant me that at least!" "My darling, I cannot--do not tempt me.