d I? I've only made Roger
either furious or wretched ever since we were engaged. It isn't as if
I could do any good by going back!"

"Isn't it something good to have kept faith?" There was a stern note
in his voice.

She looked at him wistfully.

"If it had been you, Peter. . . . It's easy to keep faith when one
loves."

"And are you being faithful--even to our love?" he asked quietly.

"To our love?" she whispered.

"There is a faithfulness of the Spirit, Nan--the only faithfulness
possible to those who are set apart as we are."

He broke off and stood silent a moment, looking down at her with hard,
hurt eyes. Presently he went on:

"That was all we might keep, you and I--our faith. Honour binds each
of us to someone else. But"--his voice vibrating--"honour doesn't bind
you to Maryon Rooke! If you go with him, you betray our love--the part
of it that nothing can touch or spoil if we so will it. You won't do
that, Nan. . . . You _can't_ do it!"

She knew, then, that she would have to go back, go back and keep faith
with Roger--and keep that deeper faith which love itself demanded.

Her head drooped, and she stretched out her hands as though seeking
something of which they might lay hold. Peter took them into his and
held them.

After a while a slight tremor ran through her body, and she drew
herself away from him, relinquishing his hands.

"I'll go back," she said. "You've won, Peter. I can't . . .
hurt . . . our love."

To Sandy the time seemed immeasurably long as he waited on the further
side of the closed door, but at last they came to him--Peter, stern and
rather strained-looking, and Nan with tear-bright eyes and a face from
which every vestige of colour had vanished.

"Get a taxi, will you, Sandy?" said Peter.

Perhaps Sandy's face asked the question his lips dared not utter, for
Nan nodded to him with a twisted little smile.

"Yes, Sandy boy, I'm going back."

"Thank God!"

He wrung her hands and then went off in search of a taxi. Nan glanced
round her a trifle nervously.

"Maryon may be here at any moment," she said. "Something's gone wrong
with the car and he's taken it round to the garage to get it put right."

"We shall be off directly," answered Peter. "See"--he pointed down the
street--"here comes Sandy with a taxi for us." He spoke reassuringly,
as though to a frightened child.

In a few minutes they had started, the taxi slipping swiftly away
through the la