"What is the glory of the Lord?" and had answered the
question herself. Her answer had condemned him; the glory of the Lord
was not merely self-restraint, stoical resignation, it was something
more, it was "Love" that "beareth all things, believeth all things,
hopeth all things, endureth all things."

"For he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love
God whom he hath not seen?"

The Warden dressed, moving about automatically, not thinking of what he
was doing. When he left his bedroom he passed the head of the staircase.
There were letters lying on the table, just as letters had lain waiting
for him on that evening, on that Monday evening, when he found Gwendolen
reading the letter from her mother and crying over it. Within those few
short days he had risked the happiness and the usefulness of his whole
life, and--God had forgiven him.

He passed the table and went on. Lena must have been waiting for him,
expecting him! Perhaps she had been worrying. The thought made him walk
rapidly along the corridor.

He knocked at her door. Louise opened it.

"Entrez, Monsieur," she said, in the tone and manner of one who mounts
guard and whose permission must be obtained.

She stood aside to let him pass, and then went out and pulled the door
to after her.

The Warden walked up to the bed.

Lady Dashwood's face was averted from him. "Jim," she said wistfully,
and she put her hand over her eyes and waited for the sound of his
voice.

She was there, waiting for him to show her what sort of sympathy he
needed. He did not speak. He came round to the side of the bed where she
was lying, by the windows. There he stood for a moment looking down upon
her. She did not look up. She looked, indeed, like a culprit, like one
humbled, who longed for pardon but did not like to ask for it. And it
was this profound humble sympathy that smote his heart through and
through. What if anything had happened to this dear sister of his? What
if her unhappiness had been too great a strain upon her?

He knelt down by the bed and laid his face on her shoulder, just as he
used to do when he was a child. Neither of them spoke. She moved her
hand and clasped his arm that he placed over her, and they remained like
this for some minutes, while a great peace enclosed them. In those few
minutes it seemed as if years dropped away from them and they were young
again. She the motherly young woman, and he the motherless boy to whom
she