The deep hollow cough that she had tried hard to keep back would break in here.

“You can not doubt me,” Guy replied, caressing her fondly:  “I promise that nothing he can say or do shall tempt me to defend myself by word or deed.  How could I, even if you had not asked this?  Has he not bitter cause?  Ask me something harder, my own!”

Constance hesitated; then she spoke rapidly, as if afraid to pause when she had once made up her mind.  The lovely color came and flickered for a moment on her cheek, and then went out again as suddenly.

“I know it is easier for me to submit than for you, yet it is very hard to be obliged to leave you, Guy; it is harder still to leave you to Flora Bellasys.  I hope my jealousy—­I am jealous—­does not make me unjust; but I don’t think she will make you better, or even happier in the end.  Now do forgive me; perhaps I ought not—­”

Guy interrupted her here:  he had not stopped her till she began to excuse herself.

“I must see her once again (the knitting of his black brows omened ill for the peace of that interview); afterward, on my honor and faith, I will never speak to her one word, or willingly look upon her face.”

O true heart! that had suffered so long, and hitherto unavailingly, till your life-blood was drained in the struggle, be content, for the victory is won at last.  Never did loyalty and right triumph more absolutely since those who stood fast by their King in the dies irae of the great battle saw the rebel angels cast headlong down.

If, in the intense joy that thrilled through every fibre of Constance’s frame, there mingled an element of gratified pride, who shall blame her?  Not I, for fear of being less indulgent than I believe was her Eternal Judge when, not many days later, she stood before him.

She needed no further protest or explanation; she never thought that, because her lover had once been entangled, there was danger of his falling into the net again; she never doubted for an instant—­and she was right.  The gaze of the spirit is far-seeing and rarely fallible when so near its translation as was hers.

As she leaned her head against his shoulder, murmuring, “You have made me so very, very happy!” there were pleasant tears in the beautiful eyes that had known so many bitter ones, and had not lost their brightness yet.

There was silence for some minutes; then Constance spoke again, looking wistfully, and more sadly than she had yet done, on her companion: 

“Do you know, Guy, I have been thinking that yours will not be a very long life?  You are so strong that it seems foolish in me, but I can not help it.”

The faintest glimmer of satisfaction, like the ghost of a smile, came upon Livingstone’s miserable, haggard face:  there had been nothing like it there for many hours; there was nothing like it again for many days.

“You may be right,” he said, very calmly.  “I trust in God you are.”