-bear sorrow and want for your sake - but no man sacrifices his honor, even for one he loves.

Nora Millions of women have done so.

Helmer - Oh, you think and talk like a silly child.

Nora - Very likely. But you neither think nor talk like the man I can share my life with. When your terror was over -not for me, but for yourself when there was nothing more to fear, then it was to you as though nothing had happened. I was your lark. again, your doll-whom you would take twice as much care of in future, because she was so weak and fragile. [Stands up.] Torvald, in that moment it burst upon me that I had been living here these eight years with a strange man, and had borne him three children. Oh! I can't bear to think of it-I could tear myself to pieces!

Helmer [sadly] —I see it, I see it; an abyss has opened between us. But, Nora, can it never be filled up?

you.

Nora

As I now am, I am no wife for you.

Helmer - I have strength to become another man.

Nora - Perhaps - when your doll is taken away from

Helmer-To part-to part from you! No, Nora, no; I can't grasp the thought.

Nora [going into room, right] - The more reason for the thing to happen.

[She comes back with outdoor things and a small traveling bag, which she puts on a chair.

Helmer-Nora, Nora, Nora, not now! Wait till to-morrow. Nora [putting on cloak]-I can't spend the night in a strange man's house.

Helmer But can't we live here as brother and sister? Nora [fastening her hat] You know very well that wouldn't last long. Good-by, Torvald. No, I won't go to the children. I know they're in better hands than mine. As I now am, I can be nothing to them.

Helmer-But sometime, Nora; sometime

Nora How can I tell? I have no idea what will become of me.

Helmer-But you are my wife, now and always!

Nora-Listen, Torvald when a wife leaves her husband's house, as I am doing, I have heard that in the eyes of the law he is free from all duties towards her. At any rate, I release you from all duties. You must not feel yourself bound any

more than I shall. There must be perfect freedom on both sides. There, there is your ring back. Give me mine.

Nora - Very well. Now it's all over. Here are the keys. The servants know about everything in the house, better than I do. To-morrow, when I have started, Christina will come to pack up my things. I will have them sent after me.

Helmer-All over! all over! Nora, will you never think of me again?

Nora Oh, I shall often think of you, and the children, and this house.

Helmer-May I write to you, Nora?
Nora-No, never. You must not.

Helmer But I must send you

Nora - Nothing, nothing.

Helmer-I must help you if you need it.
Nora-No, I say. I take nothing from strangers.
Helmer-Nora, can I never be more than a stranger to

you?

Nora [taking her traveling bag]-Oh, Torvald, then the miracle of miracles would have to happen.

Helmer-What is the miracle of miracles?

Nora

Both of us would have to change so that Torvald, I no longer believe in miracles.

Oh,

Helmer-But I will believe. We must so change that Nora-That communion between us shall be a marriage. Good-by. [She goes out. Helmer [sinks in a chair by the door with his face in his hands] - Nora! Nora! [He looks round and stands up.] Empty. She's gone. [A hope inspires him.] Ah! The

miracle of miracles

[From below is heard the reverberation of a heavy door closing.

A PASTOR'S LOVE.1

BY ÉDOUARD ROD.

(From "The White Rocks": translated by J. C. Brogan.)

[ÉDOUARD ROD: A French author; born at Nyon in 1857. He studied at Berne and Berlin, and soon became recognized as a brilliant and scholarly essayist. He declined the chair of foreign literature in the University of Geneva. He subsequently established a reputation as a novelist. Among his works are: "A Propos de L'Assommoir'" (1879), "The Germans at Paris" (1880), "Palmyre Veulard" (1881), "La Chute de Miss Topsy" (1882), "L'Autopsie du Docteur Z-" (2d ed., 1884), "La Femme d'Henry Vanneau" (1884), "Wagner and the German Esthetic" (1886), "La Course à la Mort" (1888), Études sur le XIX• Siècle" (1888), "The Meaning of Life" (1889), "Scènes de la Vie Cosmopolite" (1890), "Nouvelles Romandes" (1891), "Dante " (1891), "Stendhal" (1891), "Les Idées Morales du Temps Présent" (1892), "La Sacrifiée" (1892), "La Vie Privée de Michel Tessier" (1893), “La Seconde Vie de Michel Tessier" (1894), "Le Silence" (1894), "Les Roches Blanches" (1895), Là-Haut," (1897), and “Essai sur Goethe " (1898).]

I.

ANTOINETTE let some moments pass, as if to give him time for the enjoyment of this furtive sentiment which nothing yet tarnished. Then she answered, without allowing the softness of her voice to be impaired by the half-severity of her words:

"We must not exaggerate; love and charity ought not to lead to criminal indulgence. I should not like you to misunderstand me. I do not excuse this unfortunate girl; I pity her; that's all. And if I take an interest in her fate, it is because I think she may be saved."

Had she, then, divined his obscure thoughts- thoughts not yet reduced to form, moving about hither and thither unseen in the deep recesses of his heart and making him already feel compassionate towards the failings of others in order to render him compassionate towards himself? He turned away his eyes without answering Mme. Massod de Bussens, and changed the conversation.

"Your household arrangements are all completed now?" she asked, after a short silence.

Trembloz hastened to enter into some details: "Yes, madame, our preparations did not give us much trou

1 Copyright, 1896, by T. Y. Crowell & Co. Used by permission.

ble. Our furniture, which was very modest, is lost in the vast apartments of the parsonage, for we have quite a fine house. And my mother absolutely insists on taking entire charge of the housekeeping. My good mother has certain habits which I should like to see her lose her liking for. But she will listen to no arguments, and I am afraid to oppose her."

"You are very fond of her?"

This question astonished him, for he had never put it to himself.

"Yes, undoubtedly," he replied.

At the same time he suddenly discovered in himself shades of sentiment of which he was ignorant. A little frightened at what he was thinking and at what he was about to say, but hurried on by the irresistible longing for absolute candor which he experienced in her presence, he glided imperceptibly down the slope of secret confidences :

"Nevertheless, we are so different, she and I. During my childhood, during my boyhood, there was never any intimacy between us. For that matter, it was the same with my brother and sister. Sometimes I said to myself that I was a stranger to them all; I thought they did not love me."

As she was questioning him with her eyes, he continued:

"You are surprised! But how could it be otherwise? They were toiling in the fields, and I was busy with my studies. In reality they took me for an idler, although I was generally up earlier than they in order to be at my books. They despised my labor, and accused me of despising theirs, and there was some truth in it. Every year my father threatened to put a stop to my studies, saying that I would be more useful on the farm, and I was terribly afraid he would execute his threat. Then my mother took my part; but-but she did so without showing me any affection. She was never satisfied. When I felt worn out, she would bring me books, scolding me as a lazy fellow, just like the others. She did not scold me, though, when I came out first at the examinations. She would have wished me to have all the prizes at once. In all this I could not perceive any tenderness, and I wanted tenderness so much! I read a great deal in a desultory way. My reading developed ideas, feelings, which my own people could not understand, and I was foolish enough to show this sometimes. Hence quarrels, misunderstandings. Ah! parents should never bring up their children to fill a position different from their own!"

1

While listening to him she was thinking of her own isolated youth, of her great longings for affection, always repressed and never yet satisfied; but she told him nothing of them, for women abandon themselves less willingly than men do to frank disclosures of this kind, which for them would be almost confessions. She was contented to enjoy in her heart these traits of resemblance between their two destinies. Then, feeling her delicacy a little ruffled by his last words, she asked:

"It is not possible that you regret being what you are? "Ah, no!" he quickly exclaimed, "most certainly no! That is not what I mean. At bottom I am really grateful to my mother for what she has done for me. For I love my profession; I am devoted to it heart and soul—although I have had, like so many others, my days of discouragement, my hours of doubt."

He was going to relate to her that painful crisis when the revolt of his spirit had for a moment dragged his conscience through the horrors of unbelief. A feeling of bashfulness restrained him. He resumed:

"But I am speaking too much about myself, madame. I am abusing your kindness, and have taken up your attention too long. It is time I took my leave."

"Already?"

The word had escaped from her. As if to modify it, perhaps also to prolong the pleasure this visit gave her without seeming to do so, she added:

"Would you not like to become acquainted with our 'campagne'? You hardly know it yet."

He accepted. They went together through the old garden divided into beds all blooming with the flowers of spring, among them many of those old-fashioned blossoms now rarely found even in village gardens, but to which Antoinette was very partial. She told him their technical names and related their history. And he observed her as she bent over the plants and took the delicate roses between her white fingers to have them admired, herself like a flower, a human flower, in its full bloom, perfect and fresh.

They left the garden. They strolled through an alley of Persian lilacs whose lingering clusters scented the air. They crossed an orchard planted with trees in flower. They entered a little wood, the beeches of which were scarcely covered with fine tender leaves.