nce
ineffably beyond that whose form stood white in Faber's imagination. For
I see and understand a little how God, giving righteousness, makes pure
of sin, and that verily--by no theological quibble of imputation, by no
play with words, by no shutting of the eyes, no oblivion, willful or
irresistible, but by very fact of cleansing, so that the consciousness
of the sinner becomes glistering as the raiment of the Lord on the mount
of His transfiguration. I do not expect the Pharisee who calls the
sinner evil names, and drags her up to judgment, to comprehend this;
but, woman, cry to thy Father in Heaven, for He can make thee white,
even to the contentment of that womanhood which thou hast thyself
outraged.

Faber unconsciously prided himself on the severity of his requirements
of woman, and saw his own image reflected in the polish of his ideal;
and now a fear whose presence he would not acknowledge began to gnaw at
his heart, a vague suggestion's horrid image, to which he would yield no
space, to flit about his brain.

"Would to God it were a dream, Paul!" answered the stricken wife.

"You foolish child!" returned the nigh trembling husband, "how can you
expect me to believe, married but yesterday, you have already got tired
of me!"

"Tired of you, Paul! I should desire no other eternal paradise than to
lie thus under your eyes forever."

"Then for my sake, my darling wife, send away this extravagance, this
folly, this absurd fancy that has got such a hold of you. It will turn
to something serious if you do not resist it. There can be no truth in
it, and I am certain that one with any strength of character can do much
at least to prevent the deeper rooting of a fixed idea." But as he spoke
thus to her, in his own soul he was as one fighting the demons off with
a fan. "Tell me what the mighty matter is," he went on, "that I may
swear to you I love you the more for the worst weakness you have to
confess."

"Ah, my love!" returned Juliet, "how like you are now to the Paul I have
dreamed of so often! But you will not be able to forgive me. I have read
somewhere that men never forgive--that their honor is before their wives
with them. Paul! if you should not be able to forgive me, you must help
me to die, and not be cruel to me."

"Juliet, I will not listen to any more such foolish words. Either tell
me plainly what you mean, that I may convince you what a goose you are,
or be quiet and go to sleep again."

"_Can_