"You are the sort of man," she said, "who does not understand
temptation. You are strong. The devil leaves the strong in peace. You
have found virtue easy because you have never wanted money. Your
position has always been assured. Your name alone is a password through
the world. Your sort are always hard on women who--who--What have I
done, after all?"

Some instinct bade her rise to her feet and stand before him--tall,
beautiful, passionate, a woman in a thousand, a fit mate for such as he.
Her beautiful hair in burnished glory round her face gleamed in the
firelight. Her white fingers clenched, her arms thrown back, her breast
panting beneath the lace, her proud face looking defiance into his--no
one but a prince could have braved this princess.

"What have I done?" she cried a second time. "I have only fought for
myself, and if I have won, so much the greater credit. I am your wife. I
have done nothing the law can touch. Thousands of women moving in our
circle are not half so good as I am. I swear before God I am----"

"Hush!" he said, with upraised hand. "I never doubted that."

"I will do any thing you wish," she went on, and in her humility she was
very dangerous. "I deceived you, I know. But I sold the Charity League
before I knew that you--that you thought of me. When I married you I
didn't love you. I admit that. But Paul--oh, Paul, if you were not so
good you would understand."

Perhaps he did understand; for there was that in her eyes that made her
meaning clear.

He was silent; standing before her in his great strength, his marvellous
and cruel self-restraint.

"You will not forgive me?"

For a moment she leaned forward, peering into his face. He seemed to be
reflecting.

"Yes," he said at length, "I forgive you. But if I cared for you,
forgiveness would be impossible."

He went slowly toward the door. Etta looked round the room with drawn
eyes; their room--the room he had fitted up for his bride with the
lavishness of a great wealth and a great love.

He paused, with his hand on the door.

"And," she said, with fiery cheeks, "does your forgiveness date from
to-night?"

"Yes!"

He opened the door.

"Good-night!" he said, and went out.

CHAPTER XL

STEPAN RETURNS

At daybreak the next morning Karl Steinmetz was awakened by the familiar
cry of the wolf beneath his window. He rose and dressed hastily. The
eastern sky was faintly pink; a rosy twilight moved among the pines. He