At Love's Cost

She turned to him with suppressed passion.

"Why did you leave me?" came painfully from her white lips.

His face grew red and his eyes fell before hers for a moment. At times

his sacrifice of her to his father's need had seemed not only

inexcusable, but shameful; the shame of it now weighed upon him.

"Ida, for God's sake listen to me!" for, as he had hesitated, she had

turned from him with a gesture of repudiation. "Listen to me! There was

nothing else for me to do; fate left me no alternative. My father--Ida,

how can I tell you!--my father's good name, his reputation, were in my

hands. He had done so much for me--everything! There has never been a

father like him: my happiness stood between him and ruin--ah, not mine

alone, but yours--and I sacrificed them! If you knew all you would

forgive me the wrong I did, great as it was. I think now, if the time

were to come over again, that--yes, I should have to do it!" he broke

out. "I could not have stood by and seen-him ruined and disgraced

without stretching out my hand to save him."

"It was for your father's sake?" she said, almost inaudibly.

"Yes," he responded, grimly. "And it saved him--saved his good name, at

any rate. The rest went--you have heard?"

She made a gesture of assent. He drew a long breath, and held out his

hand to her.

"Can you not forgive me, Ida? If you knew what the sacrifice cost me,

how much I have suffered. She here, dearest"--he drew still closer to

her--"let the past go. It shall, I swear! There is a limit to a man's

endurance, and I have passed it. I love you, Ida, I want you! Come back

with me and let us live for each other, live for love. Dearest, I will

teach you to forget the wrong I did you. It's very little I have to

offer you, a share in the hard life of a farmer out there in the wilds;

but if you were still the mistress of Herondale, instead of poor--"

Half unconsciously she broke in upon his prayer.

"I am still--what I was. I am not poor. My father was a rich man when

he died."

Stafford regarded her with surprise, then he moved his hand, as if he

were waving away the suggestion of an obstacle.

"I am glad--for your sake, dearest; though for my own I would almost

rather that you were as poor as I thought you; that I might work for

you. Why do you stand and look at me so hopelessly. What else is there

to divide us, dearest?"