s, and take what had been his. I did not feel this
when I thought I was following Sergeant O'Mara, because I knew he must
always have been in all things so utterly apart from you. I could, under
different circumstances, have brought myself to follow Ingleby, because I
realise that he never awakened in you such love as is yours for me. His
possessions would not have weighted me, because it so happens I have
lands and houses of my own, where we could have lived. But, to stand in a
dead man's shoes, when he is dead through an act of mine; to take to
myself another man's widow, when she would still, but for a reckless
movement of my own right hand, have been a wife--Myra, I could not do it!
Even with our great love, it would not mean happiness. Think of
it--think! As we stood together in the sight of God, while the Church, in
solemn voice, required and charged us both, as we should answer at the
dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts should be
disclosed, that if either of us knew any impediment why we might not be
lawfully joined together in matrimony, we should then confess it--I
should cry: 'Her husband died by my hand!' and leave the church, with the
brand of Cain, and the infamy of David, upon me."

Myra lifted frightened eyes; met his, beseechingly; then bent again over
the roses.

"Or, even if I passed through that ordeal, standing mute in the solemn
silence, what of the moment when the Church bade me take your right hand
in my right hand--Myra, _my_ right hand?"

She rose, came swiftly over, and knelt before him. She took his hand, and
covered it with tears and kisses. She held it, sobbing, to her heart.

"Dearest," she said, "I will never ask you to do, for my sake, anything
you feel impossible or wrong. But, oh, in this, I know you are mistaken.
I cannot argue or explain. I cannot put my reasons into words. But I
_know_ our living, longing, love _ought_ to come before the happenings of
a dead past. Michael lost his life through an accident. That the accident
was caused by a mistake on your part, is fearfully hard for you. But
there is no moral wrong in it. You might as well blame the company whose
boat took him abroad; or the government which decided on the expedition;
or the War Office people, who accepted him when he volunteered. I am sure
I don't know what David did; I thought he was a quite excellent person.
But I _do_ know about Cain; and I am perfectly certain that the brand of
Cain could