but she did not at all know how far
such a sin might be regarded as pardonable according to the rules of
the world recognised on such subjects. At first, when the letters
were discovered and the copies of them sent off to Noningsby, she
thought that all was over. According to her ideas, as existing
at that moment, the crime was conceived to be one admitting of
no pardon; and in the hours spent under that conviction all her
consolation came from the feeling that there was still one who
regarded her as an angel of light. But then she had received Graham's
letter, and as she began to understand that pardon was possible, that
other consolation waxed feeble and dim. If Felix Graham chose to take
her, of course she was there for him to take. It never for a moment
occurred to her that she could rebel against such taking, even though
she did shine as an angel of light to one dear pair of eyes.

"I suppose she was right to tell you, only--"

"Do not think, Mary, that I am going to scold you, or even that I am
angry with you."

"Oh, but I know you must be angry."

"Indeed I am not. If I pledge myself to tell you the truth in
everything, will you be equally frank with me?"

"Yes," said Mary. But it was much easier for Felix to tell the truth
than for Mary to be frank. I believe that schoolmasters often tell
fibs to schoolboys, although it would be so easy for them to tell the
truth. But how difficult it is for the schoolboy always to tell the
truth to his master! Mary Snow was now as a schoolboy before her
tutor, and it may almost be said that the telling of the truth was
to her impossible. But of course she made the promise. Who ever said
that she would not tell the truth when so asked?

"Have you ever thought, Mary, that you and I would not make each
other happy if we were married?"

"No; I have never thought that," said Mary innocently. She meant to
say exactly that which she thought Graham would wish her to say, but
she was slow in following his lead.

"It has never occurred to you that though we might love each other
very warmly as friends--and so I am sure we always shall--yet we
might not suit each other in all respects as man and wife?"

"I mean to do the very best I can; that is, if--if--if you are not
too much offended with me now."

"But, Mary, it should not be a question of doing the best you can.
Between man and wife there should be no need of such effort. It
should be a labour of love."

"So it will;-