. She
rubbed her hands one about the other as if her doing so might lessen
the affront which she had now somehow to meet. When at last she spoke,
her calm, even tones were like the loveliness of primroses; her eyes
were brimming with simple trustfulness.

"You own me, O my husband," she said, "heart--heart, body, and soul. Do
with me what you will."

Why should she be so abject? But when Hastings heard the voice of that
other, he was again awed by it.

"Think not that I haven't avenged myself!" the voice sneeringly
proclaimed.

Hastings looked. For the first time he noticed that the stranger's arm
was in a sling; there was a mole on the cheek near the corner of those
tightly compressed lips.

She shook like a leaf in a gale. For dread minutes she faced Hastings
tremblingly. Coming nearer to him she murmured:

"Are you badly hurt, my--my husband?"

Hastings glanced down at his own arm, on which her eyes seemed to rest;
then he suddenly beheld, almost as one beholds one's self in a mirror,
his counterpart recoil from her reach while he exclaimed scornfully:

"Don't--don't touch me! Nor pray think that your wiles will ever win
from me any forgiveness."

She stopped stock-still.

"Is he dead?" she demanded.

"Ah, then, you do admit, do you, that you love him?" the other flung
at her. "Say it to me! say it to me!" he charged, and he half closed his
eyes; "or--by Heaven! I will--"

Hastings felt the justice of this accusation, and turned doubtingly back
to the girl for her answer. She stared at him, waiting.

"What is the use?" she asked in despair. "Would you believe me?"

"If you _confess_ I will believe you," stated the stranger.

It seemed to Hastings that she grew visibly taller; her face underwent a
spasm of pain; and apparently unable longer to remain silent, she cried
out to him:

"Can it be that for you a confession is more to be believed than aught
which has not to be confessed?" And Hastings could feel the touch of her
hand cold on his wrist.

But the other insisted so convincingly that Hastings looked at him once
more with confidence.

"The truth," she said sadly, "is only for those who have faith; you--you
prefer the sinner, whom you may crush into a penitent. Your egotism
demands the power to forgive; you have not the courage to love."

The stranger took a step nearer her, but she was looking at Hastings.

"He is the only one who is worthy to believe me--he, whom you blame me
for lovin