"Girls like Edith Hastings do not die easily," was Arthur's only
comment, and Victor half wished he had kept his own counsel and
never attempted to meddle in a love affair.
But if Arthur said nothing, he thought the more, and the warfare
within was not the less severe, because his face was so unruffled
and his manner so composed. Thought, intense and almost
bewildering, was busy at work, and ere the day was done, he had
resolved that he would help Edith if all else forsook her. He
would not throw one single obstacle across her pathway. He would
make the sacrifice easier for her, even if to do it, he suffered
her to think that his own love had waned. Nothing could more
effectually cure her, and believing that she might be happy with
Richard if she did not love another, he determined to measure
every word and act so as to impress her with the conviction that
though she was dear to him as a sister and friend, he had
struggled with his affection for her and overcome it. It would be
a living death to do this, he knew--to act so contrary to what he
felt, but it was meet that he should suffer, and when at last he
was left alone--when both wore lost to him forever--Edith and his
child-wife Nina, he would go away across the sea, and lose, if
possible, in foreign lands, all rememberance of the past.
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