In spite of herself she had to give way before the matron, who now
stood by the bed.

"It does not seem a healthy sleep," she said. "He has a very exhausted
look. And why is his blanket tucked so tightly round his arms?" She
waited for no explanations, but smoothed the man's ruffled hair and
looked down pityingly upon him. "Even now he has a handsome face," she
said. "Ten years ago he must have been as handsome as a god."

Ten years ago! Who knew how handsome he had been then better than
Sister Marion? In an instant how vivid was the picture of him that rose
before her eyes! The picture of a young man's laughing face--gay,
winning, debonair. A dancing shadow was on his face of the leaves of
the tree by which he stood, and on which he had carved two names--

With an involuntary movement she was beside him, looking down upon the
unconscious face; and wonderful it was to see that all its lines were
smoothing out, and all the marks of years of debauchery. Even the
sallow hue of them seemed to be changing in his cheeks. Extraordinary
that the healthy colour of early manhood should reappear in the cheeks
of a dying man!

In her surprise she called him by his name. Looking up, fearful that
she had betrayed herself to the matron, she found that she was alone
with him again, the door closed. There was absolute silence in the
room, except a soft, drip-dripping from the bed to the floor. No need
to look; she knew what it was. How short a time before the two streams
from the veins, emptying themselves of the life-blood, met beneath the
bed and trickled, trickled to the door! She flung a towel down to sop
up the tiny flood, and saw it swiftly crimson before her eyes. She
turned back to the bed, a great horror upon her now, and saw that the
eyes of the dying man were open and upon her face.

"I loved you," he said. "Once I loved you, Marion!"

The words were like a knife in her heart. She groaned aloud, but could
not speak.

"I have been bad--bad," he went on; "but I will atone. Give me time,
Marion, and I will atone. Save me! Don't send me before my God like
this, without a chance. You are my wife. You swore--swore to stick to
me. Save me!"

In his extremity power had come back to his voice. He struggled
desperately, half raised himself. "Save me!" he shrieked. "Don't send
my soul to perdition!"

She flung the blanket off him, and tried with fingers, that only shook
and helplessly fumbled now, to bind a ligature above the