n the dark. Would it be her lot to teach a
good man subtlety? Should she tell the truth? She had not long to
wait or think about it, for in five minutes Ringfield was knocking at
her door. Nothing subtle as yet looked forth from his earnest eyes,
and the grasp with which he took and held her hand was that of the
pastor rather than that of the lover, but the night was dark and
heavily warm, and although there were stars in the sky he did not look
at them. Jupiter was just rising, giving a large mellow light like a
house lamp, round and strong, and casting a shadow, but the fall of a
sable lock on Miss Clairville's white neck was already more to him.
They were soon seated side by side on the balcony. She had regained
something other usual manner.

"You must not think that I am ungrateful for your interest in me," she
said. "I believe that you are a good man, a Christian I suppose you
call yourself, outside and above all creed, all ritual, the first I
have ever met. No, I am not forgetting Father Rielle. He did the best
he could for me, and Henry and others, but I could never follow the
rules of the Romish Church, although born and bred a Catholic. With
grand music one might stay in that communion, but not as our service is
rendered here. And then, the confession! That is all right when you
have nothing to confess, but not for me! Oh--Mr. Ringfield, why is it
I cannot confess to Father Rielle, but that I can or could to you?"

"Then that story is true?"

"What was the story? What did he say?"

They talked now in whispers, and Ringfield told her in four short and
to him abhorrent words. "He said--you were his wife."

Great was his relief when Pauline, starting from her seat, almost
screamed aloud her agitated reply.

"No, it is not true! I never married him. That is--at least--no, I
entirely deny it. I am _not_ his wife. I am _not_ married to him."

In his state of mind and inexperience he failed to notice the equivocal
nature of this denial. He heard the impassioned negatives; he saw
fear, resentment, and a sort of womanly repulsion in the frightened
gesture she flung upon the air, and what he wished to hear and prayed
to hear, that he heard. Crabbe then had deliberately lied perhaps,
considering his condition, he had only boastfully invented.

"Thank God!" he ejaculated, standing up and taking Miss Clairville's
finely formed white hand in both of his own. "Thank God!" he repeated,
and, with