Then a revulsion came.
"No; love is worth nothing that is not worth every thing, and to be trusted through every thing.

If he could forget me--could love any one better than me--me myself, no matter what I was--ugly or pretty, old or young, rich or poor--I would not care for his love.

It would not be worth my having; I'd let it go.

Robert, though it broke my heart, I'd let you go." Her eyes flashed; her poor little hand clenched itself under her shawl; and then, as a half reproach, she heard in fancy the steady loving voice--which could have calmed her wildest paroxysm of passion and pain--"You must trust me, Hilary." Yes, he was a man to be trusted.

No doubt very much like other men, and by no means such a hero to the world at large as this fond girl made him out to be; but Robert Lyon had, with all people, and under all circumstances, the character of reliableness.