impossible; she was bewildered and numbed by the
suddenness of the blow. Through it all she moaned as though in physical
pain, "Brian!--oh, Brian!" Not for a minute did she doubt that he loved
her. He had given abundant evidence of his sincerity; but unable to get
her by fair means, he had determined to try foul. He had fought the
fight of his life, and had failed.

"Yes--I had to see you again," the nurse had said. And then,--"You never
divorced me!"

The words, "never divorced me," kept repeating in her brain. The nurse
had spoken, forgetful of Honor's presence or imagining that she had left
the room. He, too, had seemingly forgotten her presence or failed to
notice that she was still in the room.

She was handsome, this woman who had been--_was_--his wife! Honor
recalled the flashing eyes, the sensuous mouth, and quailed. Having once
loved her, might he not be won to love her again? She was his. He had no
right to think of another.

No other had any right to think of him!

Honor writhed in misery.

"Are you sinless?" his wife had asked him.

From his own showing, he was a most deliberate sinner, ready to
sacrifice an innocent soul for his own gratification. Only a miracle had
stopped him.

Words he had spoken returned to her mind--

"Your God to whom you pray every night of your life will see fit to save
you from such as I!"

The pathos of his dread, the wistful appeal in his voice, had touched
her deeply. She could hear it still, and her heart went out to him in
sympathy. Her poor, unhappy darling! But,--had God really interfered to
save her from the pit he was digging for her feet?

If he were free, she would have no wish to be saved from him, sinner
though he were. She would take him gladly, and, God helping, slay the
demon in him forever.

But he was not free. The task was not for her.

The Church would not marry them if it were known that he was not free.

It did not enter into her consciousness that she could go to him in
spite of God or the law. Defiance of laws, human and divine, was
impossible to Honor who had been reared to respect both from her cradle.

Therefore, all was at an end; and yet, she had no anger in her heart
towards Brian Dalton; only love and pity, and grief for the parting
which was inevitable--a blasting, desolating grief.

Presently, footsteps sounded on the gravel. Someone was wandering in the
garden in search of her. It was a man's tread. It was Dalton's; she
recogn