love could not endure the thought of giving. The worthlessness of the
gift, which before had not concerned her, now made its giving impossible.
While before she had thought with indifference of submitting to a love
she did not return, now that she returned it the idea of being happy in
it seemed to her guilty and shameless. Thus to gather the honey of
happiness from her own abasement was a further degradation, compared with
which she could now almost respect herself. The consciousness that she
had taken pleasure in that kiss made her seem to herself a brazen thing.

Her heart ached with a helpless yearning over him for the disappointment
she knew he must now suffer at her hands. She tried, but in vain, to feel
that she might, after all, marry him, might do this crowning violence to
her nature, and accept a shameful happiness for his sake.

One morning a bitter thing happened to her. She had slept unusually well,
and her dreams had been sweet and serene, untinged by any shadow of her
waking thoughts, as if, indeed, the visions intended for the sleeping
brain of some fortunate woman had by mistake strayed into hers. For a
while she had lain, half dozing, half awake, pleasantly conscious of the
soft, warm bed, and only half emerged from the atmosphere of dreamland.
As at last she opened her eyes, the newly risen sun, bright from his
ocean bath, was shining into the room, and the birds were singing. A
lilac bush before the window was moving in the breeze, and the shadows of
its twigs were netting the sunbeams on the wall as they danced to and
fro.

The spirit of the jocund morn quite carried her away, and all
unthinkingly she bounded out into the room and, stood there with a smile
of sheer delight upon her face. She had forgotten all about her shame and
sorrow. For an instant they were as completely gone from her mind as if