“I think it will not change because I am so faulty that I must have something perfect to which to cling.”

“Nonsense!  A Clarinda dream!  There’s nothing perfect about me!  The whole truth is that you don’t know whether you’ll change or not!”

“Well, say that I change!  Say that I pass from shimmering moonlight to common sunlight love!  Say that we walk a heavy road and carry burdens and that our throats are so parched we forget to turn our eyes toward each other.  Still we shall be side by side, and in the end the dust of us shall mingle in one earth.  As for our spirits—­if they have triumphed together, where is the logic in supposing that they will know separation?”

“You will give me love,” said Kate, “changing, faulty, human love!  I ask no better—­in the way of love.  I can match you in faultiness and in changefulness and in hope.  But now what else can you give me—­what work—­what chance to justify myself, what exercise for my powers?  You have your work laid out for you.  Where is mine?”

Wander stared at her a moment with a bewildered expression.  Then he leaped from his horse and caught Kate’s bridle.

“Where is your work, woman?” he thundered.  “Are you teasing me still or are you in earnest?  Your work is in your home!  With all your wisdom, don’t you know that yet?  It is in your home, bearing and rearing your sons and your daughters, and adding to my sum of joy and your own.  It is in learning secrets of happiness which only experience can teach.  Listen to me:  If my back ached and my face dripped sweat because I was toiling for you and your children, I would count it a privilege.  It would be the crown of my life.  Justify yourself?  How can you justify yourself except by being of the Earth, learning of her; her obedient and happy child?  Justify yourself?  Kate Barrington, you’ll have to justify yourself to me.”

“How dare you?” asked Kate under her breath.  “Who has given you a right to take me to task?”

“Our love,” he said, and looked her unflinchingly in the eye.  “My love for you and your love for me.  I demand the truth of you,—­the deepest truth of your deepest soul,—­because we are mates and can never escape each other as long as we live, though half the earth divides us and all our years.  Wherever we go, our thoughts will turn toward each other.  When we meet, though we have striven to hate each other, yet our hands will long to clasp.  We may be at war, but we will love it better than peace with others.  I tell you, I march to the tune of your piping; you keep step to my drum-beats.  What is the use of theorizing?  I speak of a fact.”

“I am going to turn my horse,” she said.  “Will you please stand aside?”

He dropped her bridle.

“Is that all you have to say?”

She looked at him haughtily for a moment and whirled her horse.  Then she drew the mare up.

“Karl!” she called.

No answer.