“Never hint that Again,” she almost screamed.  “It’s murder, foul murder.  I would not have Nina die for the whole world—­beautiful, loving Nina.  I wouldn’t have Arthur, if she did.  I couldn’t, for I am Richard’s wife.  I wish I’d told him early June instead of October.  I’ll tell him to-morrow and in four weeks more all the dreadful uncertainty will be ended.  I ought to love him, Victor, he’s done so much for me.  I am that Swedish child he saved from the river Rhine, periling life and limb, losing his sight for me.  He found it so that time he went with you to New York,” and Edith’s tears ceased as she repeated to Victor all she knew of her early history.  “Shouldn’t I marry him?” she asked, when the story was ended.  “Ought I not to be his eyes?  Help me, Victor.  Don’t make it so hard for me; I shall faint by the way if you do.”

Victor conceded that she owed much to Richard, but nothing could make him think it right for her to marry him with her present feelings.  It would be a greater wrong to him than to refuse him, but Edith did not think so.

“He’ll never know what I feel,” she said, and by and by I shall be better,—­shall love him as he deserves.  There are few Richards in the world, Victor.”

“That is true,” he replied, “but ’tis no reason why you must be sacrificed.  Edith, the case is like this:  I wish, and the world at large, if it could speak, would wish for Richard to marry you, but would not wish you to marry Richard.”

“But I shall,” interrupted Edith.  “There is no possible chance of my not doing so, and Victor, you will help me.—­You won’t tell him of Arthur.  You know how his unselfish heart would give me up if you did, and break while doing it.  Promise, Victor.”

“Tell me first what you meant by early June, and October,” he said, and after Edith had explained, he continued, “Let the wedding be still appointed for October, and unless I see that it is absolutely killing you, I will not enlighten Mr. Harrington.”

And this was all the promise Edith could extort from him.

“Unless he saw it was absolutely killing her, he would not enlighten Richard.”

“He shall see that it will not kill me,” she said to herself, “I will be gay whether I feel it or not.  I will out-do myself, and if my broken heart should break again, no one shall be the wiser.”

Thus deciding, she turned toward the window where the gray dawn was stealing in, and pointing to it, said: 

“Look, the day is breaking; the longest night will have an end, so will this miserable pain at my heart.  Daylight will surely come when I shall be happy with Richard.  Don’t tell him, Victor, don’t; and now leave me, for my head is bursting with weariness.”

He knew it was, by the expression of her face, which, in the dim lamp-light, looked ghastly and worn, and he was about to leave her, when she called him back, and asked how long he had lived with Mr. Harrington.