I know it is dark and sombre, for you have said so.

Oh, Fred, any place will be Paradise to me, if I am there with you." He felt that every moment of existence so continued was a renewed lie.
She was lying in his arms, in her mother's presence, almost as his acknowledged wife.

And she was speaking of her future home as being certainly his also.

But what could he do?
How could he begin to tell the truth?
His home should be her home, if she would come to him,--not as his wife.

That idea of some half-valid morganatic marriage had again been dissipated by the rough reproaches of the priest, and could only be used as a prelude to his viler proposal.