"I have always prayed for you, Edward, and for this."

"I know that, Barbara; but prayer cannot do anything, can it? You see,
though I was born a gentleman, I had a bad strain in me. I wonder if,
somewhere, generations back, there was a pirate or a gipsy in our
family." He had been going to say highwayman, but paused in time.
"I always intended to be good and always ended by being bad. I wanted to
be of the angels and play with the devils also. I liked saints--you are
a saint, Barbara--but I loved all sinners too. I hope when--when I die,
that the little bit of good that's in me will go where you are. For the
rest of me, it must be as it may."

"Don't speak like that, Edward, please, dear. Yes, you have been wicked,
but you have been punished, oh, those long, long years!"

"I've lost a great slice of life by both the stolen waters and the rod,
but I'm going to reform now, Barbara."

"You are going to reform? Oh, I knew you would! God has answered my
prayer." Her eyes lighted.

He did not speak at once, for his ears, keener than hers, were listening
to a confused sound of voices coming from the shore. At length he spoke
firmly: "Yes, I'm going to reform, but it's on one condition."

Her eyes mutely asked a question, and he replied: "That you marry him,"
pointing to the inner room, "if he lives."

"He will live, but I--I cannot tell him, Edward," she sadly said.