day is done.
Somewhere he stands--as real a man as _you_."

"With all his load upon him," said Baird; "and he may have loved her
passionately."

"It should be a heavy load," said Latimer, with bitter gloom;
"heavy--heavy."

"You have not once uttered his name," said Baird, the thought coming to
him suddenly.

"No," said Latimer; "I never knew it. She prayed so piteously that I
would let her hide it. She knelt and sobbed upon my knee, praying that I
would spare her that one woe. I could spare her no other, so I gave way.
She thanked me, clinging to me and kissing my hand. Ah, her young, young
heart wrung with sobs and tears!"

He flung himself forward against the table, hiding his face upon his
arms, and wept aloud. Baird went and stood by him. He did not speak a
word or lay his hand upon the shaking shoulders. He stood and gazed, his
own chest heaving and awful tears in his eyes.

CHAPTER XXX

In later years, one at least of the two men never glanced back upon the
months which followed without a shudder. And yet outwardly no change took
place in their relations, unless they seemed drawn closer. Such a secret
being shared between two people must either separate or bind them
together. In this case it became a bond. They spoke of it but little, yet
each was well aware that the other remembered often. Sometimes, when they
sat together, Latimer recognised in Baird's eyes a look of brooding and
felt that he knew what his thought was; sometimes Baird, glancing at his
friend, found his face darkened by reverie, and understood. Once, when
this was the case, he said, suddenly:

"What is your feeling about--the man? Do you wish to kill him?"

"It is too late," Latimer answered. "It would undo nothing. If by doing
it I could bring her back as she was before she had seen his face--if I
could see her again, the pretty, happy child, with eyes like blue
convolvulus, and laughing lips--I would kill him and gladly hang for it."

"So would I," said Baird, grimly.

"To crucify him would not _undo_ it," said Latimer, looking sickly pale.
"She was crucified--she lived through terror and shame; she died--afraid
that God would not forgive her."

"That God would not----!" Baird gasped.

Latimer's bony hands were twisted together.

"We were brought up to believe things like that," he said. "I was afraid,
too. That was the damnable part of it. I could not help her. I have
changed since then--I have changed through knowi