" He
paused; but, without reply, continued more rapidly. "It's over, the--the
misery of the past weeks; the mistakes are dead; they are paid, Susan.
Now we may take what is left and make it as beautiful as possible. After
suffering, reparation, happiness, is every one's due. And I am certain I
can make you happy."
A longer pause followed, in which he regarded her with an increasing
anxiety. Her face was turned away, her progress grew slower until they
stood by the shadowy bulk of a small stone structure. The door was open,
and it seemed to him that she looked within. "A store house," he
explained. Nothing was visible in the interior gloom but some obscure
shapes, bales, piled against the walls, and the scant tracery of a rude
stair leading up to a greater blackness above. She stopped, as if
arrested by his period, laying a hand on the door frame.
"Why don't you answer me, Susan?" he proceeded. "You know that I want to
marry you; surely it is all right now. Everything possible has been
done. A great deal of life remains." Her answer was so low that it
almost escaped him; the faintest breath of pain, of longing and regret.
"I can't," she whispered; "not with her, the child. I can't."
"That," he replied gently, "is a mistaken idea of responsibility, a
needless sacrifice.
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