gossip to-morrow evening, whatever happens."

"Great God! what am I to believe?"

She turned slowly towards him and said, gravely: "Do not use that
name, Mr. Lane. He recognizes the possibility of good in the weakest
and most unworthy of His creatures. He never denounces those who
admit their sin and would turn from it."

He sprung to her side and took her hand. "Look at me," he pleaded.

His face was so lined and eloquent with suffering that her own lip
quivered.

"Mr. Lane," she said, "I have wronged you. I am very sorry now.
I've been sorry ever since I began to think--since you last called.
I wish you could forgive me. I think it would be better for us both
if you could forgive me."

He sunk into a chair and burying his face in his hands groaned aloud;
then, in bitter soliloquy, said: "O God! I was right--I knew I was
not deceived. She is just the woman I believed her to be. Oh, this
is worse than death!"

No tears came into his eyes, but a convulsive shudder ran through
his frame like that of a man who recoils from the worst blow of
fate.

"Reproach--strike me, even," she cried. "Anything is better than
this. Oh, that I could--but how can I? Oh, what an unutterable fool