What it might be, what it ought to be, she had not conceived.

Was it not offered now?
Horrible, repulsive, degrading--yes, but was it not so much the worthier?
Here stood the man she had loved in all the prime and power of his youth, full of hope, and beauty, and vigor--the hero that satisfied the girl's longing--and he was bent, gray, wan, shaking, utterly lost, except for her.

Should she restore him to that lost manhood?
Could she forgive herself if she suffered her own feelings, tastes, pride, to prevent?
While the thought whirled through her excited brain: "Remember," he said, solemnly--"remember it is the salvation of a human soul upon which you are deciding." There was perfect silence for some minutes.

The low, quick ticking of the clock upon the mantle was all they heard.
"I have decided," she said, at last.
"What is it ?" he asked, under his breath.
"What you knew it would be," she answered.
"Then you refuse ?" he said, in a half-threatening tone.
"I refuse!" "Then the damnation of a soul rest upon your head forever," he said, in a loud coarse voice, crushing his hat, and his black eyes glaring.
"Have you done ?" she asked, pale and calm.
"No, Hope Wayne, I have not done; I am not deceived by your smooth face and your quiet eyes.

I have known long enough that you meant to marry my Uncle Lawrence, although he is old enough to be your father.