at something—­anything, for my livelihood near my sister.  It is difficult for women to earn money, but I think I can.  I have done so since my illness.  I have been in the hospital with brain fever.  He was lodging in the house with me before.  He found me at the hospital.  When I came out, he walked with me to support me:  I was very weak.  He read to me, and then asked me to marry him.  He asked again.  I lay in bed one night, and with my eyes open, I saw the dangers of women, and the trouble of my father and sister; and pits of wickedness.  I saw like places full of snakes.  I had such a yearning for protection.  I gave him my word I would be his wife, if he was not ashamed of a wife like me.  I wished to look once in father’s face.  I had fancied that Rhoda would spurn me, when she discovered my falsehood.  She—­sweet dear! would she ever?  Go to her.  Say, I do not love any man.  I am heart-dead.  I have no heart except for her.  I cannot love a husband.  He is good, and it is kind:  but, oh! let me be spared.  His face!—­”

She pressed her hands tight into the hollow of her eyes.

“No; it can’t be meant.  Am I very ungrateful?  This does not seem to be what God orders.  Only if this must be! only if it must be!  If my sister cannot look on me without!  He is good, and it is unselfish to take a moneyless, disgraced creature:  but, my misery!—­If my sister will see me, without my doing this!—­Go to her, Mr. Robert.  Say, Dahlia was false, and repents, and has worked with her needle to subsist, and can, and will, for her soul strives to be clean.  Try to make her understand.  If Rhoda could love you, she would know.  She is locked up—­she is only ideas.  My sweet is so proud.  I love her for her pride, if she will only let me creep to her feet, kiss her feet.  Dear Mr. Robert, help me! help me!  I will do anything she says.  If she says I am to marry him, I will.  Don’t mind my tears—­they mean nothing now.  Tell my dear, I will obey her.  I will not be false any more to her.  I wish to be quite stripped.  And Rhoda may know me, and forgive me, if she can.  And—­Oh! if she thinks, for father’s sake, I ought, I will submit and speak the words; I will; I am ready.  I pray for mercy.”

Robert sat with his fist at his temples, in a frowning meditation.

Had she declared her reluctance to take the step, in the first moments of their interview, he might have been ready to support her:  but a project fairly launched becomes a reality in the brain—­a thing once spoken of attracts like a living creature, and does not die voluntarily.  Robert now beheld all that was in its favour, and saw nothing but flighty flimsy objections to it.  He was hardly moved by her unexpected outburst.

Besides, there was his own position in the case.  Rhoda would smile on him, if he brought Dahlia to her, and brought her happy in the world’s eye.  It will act as a sort of signal for general happiness.  But if he had to go and explain matters base and mournful to her, there would be no smile on her face, and not much gratitude in her breast.  There would be none for a time, certainly.  Proximity to her faded sister made him conceive her attainable, and thrice precious by contrast.