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42 his conduct and return to him can only be conjectured. Is it possible that, knowing or suspecting the uncertain tenure of John's life, he counts upon becoming himself the heir of Cedarcliffe? It is a repulsive idea, and I mention it as a solution of the riddle, not likely, but still barely conceivable. Henry is so impenetrable in his apparent frankness that one cannot help being provoked to speculations which a less subtle character would never suggest.

As for Sinfire, I know not what to say about her. If she were as unimportant to me as I once thought she was, I might imagine that she felt as she appears to feel,—happy, thoughtless, and high-spirited. But of course I know better. She is passing through a crisis in her life. She is on the brink of doing or forbearing to do something momentous and irrevocable. I wish I could advise or help her; but it is impossible, under the circumstances, either for her to ask or for me to volunteer such help. When she has decided, then my opportunity may come: not till then.

She is more than ever before a superb object to contemplate. She is full of excitement and restless energy, says brilliant things, and laughs often; but her laugh, though musical as a peal of bells, has no mirth in it. It is defiant, mocking, and cold. Deeply as I sympathize with her, I cannot say that I understand her; nor do I understand myself. What do I wish to do?

Sometimes I am sure that she cares for me; at other times I doubt it. But, say she does, am I willing to take to myself a woman of whom I know nothing but that she has beauty and a great soul?—a woman who it is probable is sailing under false colors, and who has been wronged, either morally or materially, by another man? As regards the last, however, I cannot look at her and believe that she has ever lost what women hold most dear. She is too proud, too inaccessible, for that. And yet I must confront that possibility too. Well, then, if it were so, could I excuse it?

I have always held myself superior to the conventionalities of life: even when I outwardly conform to them it is but to avoid remark, and reserving the freedom of my own thought. It has always been my belief that civilization is unjust to women. Whatever is best in human nature is theirs; and it is by taking advantage of those better qualities that men oppress and degrade them. It will never be well with the world until woman rules it,—not with the strong hand, but with love. Love is the basis of her nature, and it is by giving all to love that she falls; but, were men true lovers, fall she never would. It is by her generosity, and by his selfishness, that she suffers.

Nevertheless, once fallen, she is capable of becoming more