sick look of gratitude.

"You don't know how it will ease me," she said. "I had a thought of
going to Quinn by the light railway and going into the Catholic Chapel
there and finding a priest who would listen to me and absolve me. But I
was afraid I should be seen and recognized. When they told me Robin was
sickening I knew it was a judgment of God."

"God doesn't judge in that way," I said. "Perhaps it is in that way He
calls you back. I have no belief in an angry God!"

"You have not, Bawn? I was brought up on it. It turned me away from
religion. You think God will not take the child away from me because of
my sin?"

The anguished soul in her eyes implored me. God forgive me if it was
presumptuous, but I said--

"I am so sure of His mercy that I am sure He will not."

"If He will spare me Robin, I will be a good woman for the future.
Arthur has been very tender to me over the child. It was he who banished
me from Robin's room, although he is there himself. He says that I am so
precious to him that the world would fall in ruins without me. Why
didn't he say it to me before, and not live always in a world which I
could not enter? Bawn, I have never really loved any one but my
husband."

"I am sure of it," I said, "as he never loved any one but you."

"Oh, the folly of it all!" she moaned, sitting huddled up in her little
phaeton, with her eyes looking miserably before her.

Then she turned her gaze on me, and I felt as though her unhappy eyes
scorched and burned me.

"Yet I very nearly ran away with Richard Dawson," she said. "In fact, I
did run away with him that night after you had broken with him. He
concealed nothing from me. He did not even pretend to love me. And I
went with him on those terms. As the mercy of God would have it, we
found that poor wretch in the road not twenty yards from my own gates.
It seemed to sober us. We were both mad. He would not let me touch him.
He told me to go back; that it was all over. I crept back. By the mercy
of God I had left a door ajar. I crept back to my room, and none knows
that I ever left it except he and I and you. Bawn, am I not mad to tell
you such a story? You, an innocent girl! I must be mad to tell my shame
to any one when it might die with him and be buried with me."

"The mercy of God met you at every step and saved you," I said, feeling
how little equal I was to the task of comforting her.

"Of course you despise me," she said: and the hard misery was