month ago, the one light in the blackness was that now I might break my engagement, and I hurried to do it. But he wouldn't. He—"  A sound came, half laugh, half sob. "He's certainly faithful. But—I've got a lot of money. It's frightful," she burst forth.  "It's the crowning touch, to doubt even his sincerity. And I may be wrong—he may care for me. He says so. I think my heart has ossified first, and is finished, for it is quite cold when he says so. I can't marry him! So I might as well kill myself," she concluded, in a casual tone, like a splash of cold water on the hot intensity of the sentences before. And the man, listening, realized that now he must say something. But what to say? His mind seemed blank, or at best a muddle of protest. And the light-hearted voice spoke again.  "I think I'll do it to-night, unless you tell me I'd certainly go to hell forever." 

 Then the protest was no longer muddled, but defined.  "You mustn't do that," he said, with authority.  "Suppose a man is riding a runaway horse and he loses his nerve and throws himself off and is killed—is that as good a way as if he sat tight and fought hard until the horse ran into a wall and killed him? I think not. And besides, any second, his pull on the reins may tell, and the horse may slow down, and his life may be saved. It's better riding and it's better living not to give in till you're thrown. Your case looks hopeless to you, but doctors have been wrong plenty of times; diseases take unexpected turns; you may get well." 

 "Then I'd have to marry him," she interrupted swiftly. 

 "You ought not to marry him if you dislike him"—and the young parson felt himself flush hotly, and was thankful for the darkness; what a fool a fellow felt, giving advice about a love-affair! 

 "I have to. You see—he's pathetic. He'd go back into the depths if I let go, and—and I'm fond of him, in a way." 

 "Oh!"—the masculine mind was bewildered.  "I understood that you—disliked him." 

 "Why, I do. But I'm just fond of him."  Then she laughed again.  "Any woman would know how I mean it. I mean—I am fond of him—I'd do anything for him. But I don't believe in him, and the thought of—of marrying him makes me desperate." 

 "Then you should not." 

 "I have to, if I live. So I'm going to kill myself to-night. You have nothing to say against it. You've said nothing—that counts. If you said I'd certainly go to hell, I might not—but you don't say that.  

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