ntil he wondered whether she would answer him. He
had often speculated to himself how she would take this decision, but he
could make no surmise from her expression as she stared off into the
wood. Presently she turned her head, slowly, and looked into his face.
Still she did not speak.

"You are wondering how I can do it," he said.

"Yes," she acknowledged, in a low voice.

"I should like you to know--that is why I spoke of it. You have never
asked me, and I have never told you that the convictions I formerly held
I lost. And with them, for a while, went everything. At least so I
believed."

"I knew it," she answered, "I could see that, too."

"When I argued with you, that afternoon,--the last time we talked
together alone,--I was trying to convince myself, and you--" he
hesitated, "--that there was something. The fact that you could not
seem to feel it stimulated me."

He read in her eyes that she understood him. And he dared not, nor did
he need to emphasize further his own intense desire that she should find
a solution of her own.

"I wish you to know what I am telling you for two reasons," he went on.
"It was you who spoke the words that led to the opening of my eyes to the
situation into which I had been drifting for two years, who compelled me
to look upon the inconsistencies and falsities which had gradually been
borne in upon me. It was you, I think, who gave me the courage to face
this situation squarely, since you possess that kind of courage
yourself."

"Oh, no," she cried. "You would have done it anyway."

He paused a moment, to get himself in hand.

"For this reason, I owed it to you to speak--to thank you. I have
realized, since that first meeting, that you became my friend then,
and that you spoke as a friend. If you had not believed in my sincerity,
you would not have spoken. I wish you to know that I am fully aware and
grateful for the honour you did me, and that I realize it is not always
easy for you to speak so--to any one."

She did not reply.

"There is another reason for my telling you now of this decision of
mine to remain a clergyman," he continued. "It is because I value your
respect and friendship, and I hope you will believe that I would not take
this course unless I saw my way clear to do it with sincerity."

"One has only to look at you to see that you are sincere," she said
gently, with a thrill in her voice that almost unmanned him. "I told you
once that I should never h