ht streaming through the window sheened the
luxuriant mass of hair that falling over shoulders and to the waist
seemed alone to cloak the little figure in its crouched position--the
little figure that shook so convulsively with sobs--the little figure
that clung so desperately at the feet of this god-like, regal man, whose
beard was silver, whose hair was hoary white, upon whose face, marring
none its strength or self-possession, was a troubled, anxious,
questioning look.

Strange! Strange! Madison's hands fell to his sides. The Patriarch's
eyes were turned full upon him, wavering not so much as by the fraction
of an inch--full upon him. And then, as into some holy sanctuary,
fending her from harm and danger, the Patriarch turned a little to
interpose himself before Madison, and, raising Helena, held her in his
arms, her head against his bosom--and one hand lay upon her head and
stroked it tenderly. But upon Madison was still turned those sightless
eyes, that noble face, serene, commanding even in its perturbation, even
in its alert and searching look.

Madison stirred now--stirred uneasily--while the silence held. There was
a solemnity in the silence that seemed to creep upon and pervade the
room--a sense of a vast something that was the antithesis of turmoil,
passion, strife, that seemed to radiate from the saintly figure whose
lips were mute, whose ears heard no sound, whose eyes saw no sight. And
upon Madison it fell potent, masterful, and passion fled, and in its
place came a strange, groping response within him, a revulsion, a
penitence--and he bowed his head.

And then Helena spoke--but her head was turned away from him, hidden on
the Patriarch's breast.

"Once," she said, and her words were like broken whispers, for she was
sobbing still, "once, long, long ago, when I was a little girl, I read
the story of Mary Magdalen. I had almost forgotten it, it was so long
ago, but it has come back to me, and--and it is a glad story--at the
end."

She stopped--and Madison raised his head, and his face was strained as
with some sudden wonder as he looked at her.

"It is a glad story," she said presently. "It--it is my story."

"You mean"--Madison's voice was hoarse--"you mean that you've
turned--_straight_!"

"They love me here," she said. "They trust me and they think me good--as
they are. All think me that--the little children and this dear man
here--and for a little while, since I have been here, I have lived l