. He thinks, of course, that I have made a
failure of life, and that if I marry you I shall drag you down to poverty
and disgrace."

She raised her head, proudly.

"But he knows that it is I who insist upon marrying you! I explained it
all to him--how I had asked you. Of course he did not understand. He
thinks, I suppose, that it is simply an infatuation."

In spite of the solemnity of the moment, Hodder smiled down at her,
touched by the confession.

"That, my dear, doesn't relieve me of responsibility. I am just as
responsible as though I had spoken first, instead of you."

"But, John, you didn't--?" A sudden fear made her silent.

He took her hand and pressed it reassuringly.

"Give you up? No, Alison," he answered simply. "When you came to me,
God put you in my keeping."

She clung to him suddenly, in a passion of relief.

"Oh, I never could give you up, I never would unless you yourself told me
to. Then I would do it,--for you. But you won't ask me, now?"

He put his arm around her shoulders, and the strength of it seemed to
calm her.

"No, dear. I would make the sacrifice, ask you to make it, if it would
be of any good. As you say, he does not understand. And you couldn't go
on living with him and loving me. That solution is impossible. We can
only hope that the time will come when he will realize his need of you,
and send for you."

"And did he not ask you anything more?"

Hodder hesitated. He had intended to spare her that . . . . Her
divination startled him.

"I know, I know without your telling me. He offered you money, he
consented to our--marriage if you would give up St. John's. Oh, how
could he," she cried. "How could he so misjudge and insult you!"

"It is not me he misjudges, Alison, it is mankind, it is God. That is
his terrible misfortune." Hodder released her tenderly. "You must see
him--you must tell him that when he needs you, you will come."

"I will see him now, she said. You will wait for, me?"

"Now?" he repeated, taken aback by her resolution, though it was
characteristic.

"Yes, I will go as I am. I can send for my things. My father has given
me no choice, no reprieve,--not that I ask one. I have you, dear. I
will stay with Mr. Bentley to-night, and leave for New York to-morrow,
to do what I have to do--and then you will be ready for me."

"Yes," he said, "I shall be ready."

He lingered in the well-remembered hall . . . . And when at last she
came down again her eyes