How bitter the assurance that she had not come West to help him! It was self, self, all self that had actuated her.

Unworthy indeed was she of the love of this man.

Only a lifetime of devotion to him could acquit her in the eyes of her better self.

Sweetly and madly raced the thrill and tumult of her blood.

There must be only one outcome to her romance.
Yet the next instant there came a dull throbbing--an oppression which was pain--an impondering vague thought of catastrophe.