livered myself up to silent weeping. But Arthur was not asleep: at the first slight sob, he raised his head and looked round, impatiently exclaiming—
"What are you crying for, Helen? What the deuce is the matter now?"
"I'm crying for you Arthur," I replied, speedily drying my tears; and starting up, I threw myself on my knees before him, and, clasping his nerveless hand between my own, continued: "Don't you know that you are a part of myself? And do you think you can injure and degrade yourself, and I not feel it?"
"Degrade myself, Helen?"
"Yes, degrade! What have you been doing all this time?"
"You'd better not ask," said he with a faint smile.
"And you had better not tell—but you cannot deny that you have degraded yourself miserably. You have shamefully wronged yourself, body and soul—and me too; and I can't endure it quietly—and I won't!"
