ave defiance. And pure--just God,
how pure she looked!--the brow stainless white under the mass of dark,
coiled hair; the perfect throat of ivory. And--and the misery that was
in every feature of her face, in every line of her poise--and he had
brought her that--_he_ had brought her to that--and now when he loved
her as he might have loved her once and known her love in return, when
his heart cried out for her, when she was all in life he cared for, she
was gone from him, out of his life, and between them was a barrier he
could never pass--a barrier of his own raising.

And so he made no answer, for indeed he had not heard her; but she was
coming toward him now, her hands outstretched in a wondering way,
wistfully, pleadingly, as though to hold back a refutation that would
change the dawning light upon her face to dismay and grief again.

"It--it is true," she faltered. "It has come to you too--this change,
this new life that has come to me. It is true--I can see it in your
face."

"Yes; it is true," he answered, in a low voice.

"Thank God!" she whispered--and hid her face in her hands--and presently
he heard her sob again.

A tiny cloud edged the moon, and the light faded, and it grew dark, and
the darkness hid her; then softly, timidly almost it seemed, the
radiance came creeping through the branches overhead again--and then he
spoke.

"Helena," he said, steadying his voice with an effort, "you spoke of
atonement a little while ago; but there is no atonement that I can make
to you--nothing that I can do to change what I would give my soul to
change. I know what it meant to you to send Thornton away to-night, for
I love you now as you love him--I know why you did it, and--"

She was staring at him a little wildly--her hands pressed against her
cheeks.

"Love--Thornton," she repeated in a sort of wondering way, a long pause
between the words.

"Yes," he said gently; "I know. Have you forgotten what you told me this
afternoon?--that you had learned--last night--what love was."

She shook her head.

"I do not love Thornton," she said in a monotone. "And yet it is true
that through him I learned what love was, what it _could_ be--don't you
understand?"

Understand! No; it seemed that he could never understand! She did not
love Thornton! And then, as some fiery cordial, the words seemed to whip
through his veins, quickening the beat of his heart into wild,
tumultuous throbbing. Yes, yes, he could understand