“It is in effect the same thing.”

“Herman, understand me:  when I say, from the deep conviction I feel, that you will never own me, I also say that you will be blameless.”

“Those two things are incompatible, Nora!  But why do you persist in asserting that you will never be owned?”

“Ah, dear me, because it is true!”

“But why do you think it is true?”

“Because when I try to imagine our future, I see only my own humble hut, with its spinning-wheel and loom.  And I feel I shall never live in Brudenell Hall!”

“Nora, hear me:  this is near the first of July; in six months, that is before the first of January, whether I live or die, as my wife or as my widow, you shall rule at Brudenell Hall!”

Nora smiled, a strange, sad smile.

“Listen, dearest,” he continued; “my mother leaves Brudenell in December.  She thinks the two young ladies, my sisters, should have more society; so she has purchased a fine house in a fashionable quarter of Washington City.  The workmen are now busy decorating and furnishing it.  She takes possession of it early in December.  Then, my Nora, when my mother and sisters are clear of Brudenell Hall, and settled in their town-house, I will bring you home and write and announce our marriage.  Thus there can be no noise.  People cannot quarrel very long or fiercely through the post.  And finally time and reflection will reconcile my mother to the inevitable, and we shall be all once more united and happy.”

“Herman dear,” said Nora softly, “indeed my heart is toward your mother; I could love and revere and serve her as dutifully as if I were her daughter, if she would only deign to let me.  And, at any rate, whether she will or not, I cannot help loving and honoring her, because she is your mother and loves you.  And, oh, Herman, if she could look into my heart and see how truly I love you, her son, how gladly I would suffer to make you happy, and how willing I should be to live in utter poverty and obscurity, if it would be for your good, I do think she would love me a little for your sake!”

“Heaven grant it, my darling!”

“But be sure of this, dear Herman.  No matter how she may think it good to treat me, I can never be angry with her.  I must always love her and seek her favor, for she is your mother.”

CHAPTER VI.

A SECRET REVEALED.

  Full soon upon that dream of sin
  An awful light came bursting in;
    The shrine was cold at which she knelt;
    The idol of that shrine was gone;
  An humbled thing of shame and guilt;
  Outcast and spurned and lone,
  Wrapt in the shadows of that crime,
    With withered heart and burning brain,
    And tears that fell like fiery rain,
  She passed a fearful time.

  —­Whittier.

Thus in pleasant wandering through the wood and sweet repose beneath the trees the happy lovers passed the blooming months of summer and the glowing months of autumn.