d.

At length I heard a woman's voice say, "She's coming to," and a great
burden rolled away from my heart. At all events, Ruth's death would
not lie at my door, and so far my mind was at rest. By and by I heard
more whispering, and then I heard Ruth speak. Was she not asking for
me? I thought so; certainly, I heard my own name.

I entered the room, and found Ruth sitting up, while the doctor was
walking excitedly round the room, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.

She looked up and our eyes met. Then I knew that a great gulf was
between us, as great as the gulf that lies between Heaven and hell.
She could not come to me, I could not go to her. We were divided, not
by distance, but by my guilt. We were in the same room, and yet, now
that she knew what I had done we could not be as we were.

In spite of this, however, I made a step towards Ruth as if to take her
hand, but I saw as I came nearer a look of terror came into her eyes,
and she shrunk from me with a cry of pain. Now I knew my doom was
sealed, and without a word I turned and walked away from her. I loved
her still; God only knows how; but I could not stay with her when my
presence caused her so much pain. Nay, I felt that if my love were
worthy the name, she must never see me again. Would she not feel that
she had loved a man whose hands were stained by his brother's blood?

I did not even say "good-bye." I do not think I could have done so,
for weights seemed to hang upon my lips. Yet it was terribly hard to
go. We had been separated for more than ten long years, and then we
had met, as perhaps lovers never met before, met for a few brief hours
only to be again divided.

I stood alone in the hall, as if waiting for some voice to recall me,
but I heard none, so I placed my hat upon my head to go out alone. As
I walked towards the door I thought of the sweet hours we had spent
together, and of the Heaven of which my sin had deprived me. But
nothing could undo the past. I must reap the harvest of my sin.
Before I had gone far, however, Mr. Inch stepped out of one of the
rooms and met me.

"Are you going out," he said in astonishment.

"Yes."

"But why? Surely there is no reason."

"Yes there is."

"But you are not going far? You will soon return?"

"I do not know how far I shall go; but I shall never return."

He looked at me in wonder; then a look of intelligence came into his
face as though he had guessed the reason of my de