er beautiful, soft
cheek, down which the tears were now streaming, against his brown hair.
"Bob, forgive me, but I love you, love you, Bob, as only a woman can love
who has never known love before, never known anything but stern duty. Bob,
night after night when all have left I have crept into your office and sat
in your chair. I have laid my head on your desk and cried and cried until
it seemed as though I could not live till morning without hearing you say
that you loved me, and that you did not mind the ruin I had brought into
your life. I have patted the back of your chair where your dear head had
rested. I have covered the arms of your chair, that your strong, brave
hands had gripped, with kisses. Night after night I have knelt at your
desk and prayed to God to shield you, to protect you from all harm, to
brush away the black cloud I brought into your life. I have asked Him to
do with me, yes, with my father and mother, anything, anything if only He
would bring back to you the happiness I had stolen. Bob, I have suffered,
suffered, as only a woman can suffer."

She was sobbing as though her heart would break, sobbing wildly,
convulsively, like the little child who in the night comes to its mother's
bed to tell of the black goblins that have been pursuing it. Long before
she had finished speaking--and it took only a few heart-beats for that
rush of words--I had broken the power of the fascination that held me, had
turned away my eyes, and tried not to listen. For fear of breaking the
spell, I did not dare cross the room to close Beulah's door or to reach
the outer door of my office, which was nearer hers than it was to my desk.
I waited--through a silence, broken only by Beulah's weeping, that seemed
hour-long. Then in Bob's voice came one low sob of joy:

"Beulah, Beulah, my Beulah!"

I realised that he had risen. I rose too, thinking that now I could close
the door. But again I saw a picture that transfixed me. Bob had taken
Beulah by both shoulders and he held her off and looked into her eyes long
and beseechingly. Never before nor since have I seen upon human face that
glorious joy which the old masters sought to get into the faces of their
worshippers who, kneeling before Christ, tried to send to Him, through
their eyes, their soul's gratitude and love. I stood as one enthralled.
Slowly and as reverently as the living lover touches the brow of his dead
wife, Bob bent his head and kissed her forehead. Again and