er was suddenly at white
heat; and his voice, which he strove to control, betrayed it.

"Since you have rejected my offer, which was made in kindness, since you
are bent on ruining my daughter's life as well as your own, and she has
disregarded my wishes, I refuse to see either of you, no matter to what
straits you may come, as long as I live. That is understood. And she
leaves this house to-day, never to enter it again. It is useless to
prolong this conversation, I think."

"Quite useless, as I feared, Mr. Parr. Do you know why Alison is willing
to marry me? It is because the strength has been given me to oppose you
in the name of humanity, and this in spite of the fact that her love for
you to-day is greater than it has ever been before. It is a part of the
heavy punishment you have inflicted on yourself that you cannot believe
in her purity. You insist on thinking that the time will come when she
will return to you for help. In senseless anger and pride you are
driving her away from you whom you will some day need. And in that day,
should God grant you a relenting heart to make the sign, she will come to
you,--but to give comfort, not to receive it. And even as you have
threatened me, I will warn you, yet not in anger. Except a man be born
again, he cannot see the Kingdom of God, nor understand the motives of
those who would enter into it. Seek and pray for repentance."

Infuriated though he was, before the commanding yet compassionate bearing
of the rector he remained speechless. And after a moment's pause, Hodder
turned and left the room . . . .

III

When Hodder had reached the foot of the stairs, Alison came out to him.
The mourning she wore made her seem even taller. In the face upturned to
his, framed in the black veil and paler than he had known it, were traces
of tears; in the eyes a sad, yet questioning and trustful smile. They
gazed at each other an instant, before speaking, in the luminous ecstasy
of perfect communion which shone for them, undimmed, in the surrounding
gloom of tragedy. And thus, they felt, it would always shine. Of that
tragedy of the world's sin and sorrow they would ever be conscious.
Without darkness there could be no light.

"I knew," she said, reading his tidings, "it would be of no use. Tell me
the worst."

"If you marry me, Alison, your father refuses to see you again. He
insists that you leave the house."

"Then why did he wish to see you?"

"It was to make an appeal