n't, all this time?" said she.

"I certainly do."

Henry went to Sylvia and took hold of her arm, but she did not seem
to heed him. "I was just as guilty," said she, firmly, "for I had the
knowledge of sin in my heart and I held it there. I was just as
guilty."

She stared helplessly at the worthless will which she still held. A
young girl tittered softly. Sylvia turned towards the sound. "There
is no occasion to laugh," said she, "at one who thought she was
sinning, and has had the taste of sin in her soul, even though she
was not doing wrong. The intention was there."

Sylvia stopped. Rose had both arms around her, and was kissing her
and whispering. Sylvia pushed her gently away. "Now," she said to the
minister, "you can go on with your marrying. Even if Mr. Meeks had
told me before what he has just told me here in your presence, I
should have had to speak out. I've carried it on my shoulders and in
my heart just as long as I could and live and walk and speak under
it, let alone saying my prayers. I don't say I haven't got to carry
it now, for I have, as long as I live; but telling you all about it
was the only way I could shift a little of the heft of it. Now I feel
as if the Lord Almighty was helping me carry the burden, and always
would. That's all I've got to say. Now you can go on with your
marrying."

Sylvia stepped back. There was a hush, then a solemn murmur of one
voice, broken at intervals by other hushes and low responses.

When it was over, and the bridal pair stood in the soft shadow of
their bridal flowers--Rose's white garment being covered with a
lace-like tracery of vines and bride roses, and her head with its
chaplet of orange-blossoms shining out clearly with a white radiance
from the purple mist of leaves and flowers, which were real, yet
unreal, and might have been likened to her maiden dreams--Henry and
Sylvia came first to greet them.

Henry's dress-suit fitted well, but his shoulders, bent with his
life-work over the cutting-table, already moulded it. No tailor on
earth could overcome the terrible, triumphant rigidity of that back
fitted for years to its burden of toil. However, the man's face was
happy with a noble happiness. He simply shook hands, with awkward
solemnity, with the two, but in his heart was great, unselfish
exultation.

"This man," he was saying to himself, "has work to do that won't
grind him down and double him up, soul and body, like a dumb animal.
He can take c