that I have told you now. I wanted
you to be my friend; something told me that you could,--that you could
separate me from my past; that you could tell me what to do; that you
could make me think as you thought, see life as YOU saw it, and trust
always to some goodness in people as YOU did. And in this faith I
thought that you would understand me now, and even forgive me all."

She made a slight movement as if to disengage his arm, and, possibly,
to look into his eyes, which she knew instinctively were bent upon her
downcast head. But he only held her the more tightly until her cheek
was close against his breast. "What could I do?" she murmured. "A man
in sorrow and trouble may go to a woman for sympathy and support and the
world will not gainsay or misunderstand him. But a woman--weaker, more
helpless, credulous, ignorant, and craving for light--must not in her
agony go to a man for succor and sympathy."

"Why should she not?" burst out Barker passionately, releasing her in
his attempt to gaze into her face. "What man dare refuse her?"

"Not THAT," she said slowly, but with still averted eyes, "but because
the world would say she LOVED him."

"And what should she care for the opinion of a world that stands aside
and lets her suffer? Why should she heed its wretched babble?" he went
on in flashing indignation.

"Because," she said faintly, lifting her moist eyes and moist and parted
lips towards him,--"because it would be TRUE!"

There was a silence so profound that even the spring seemed to withhold
its song as their eyes and lips met. When the spring recommenced its
murmur, and they could hear the droning of a bee above them and the
rustling of the reed, she was murmuring, too, with her face against his
breast: "You did not think it strange that I should follow you--that I
should risk everything to tell you what I have told you before I told
you anything else? You will never hate me for it, George?"

There was another silence still more prolonged, and when he looked again
into the flushed face and glistening eyes he was saying, "I have ALWAYS
loved you. I know now I loved you from the first, from the day when I
leaned over you to take little Sta from your lap and saw your tenderness
for him in your eyes. I could have kissed you THEN, dearest, as I do
now."

"And," she said, when she had gained her smiling breath again, "you
will always remember, George, that you told me this BEFORE I told you
anything of her