"There's one thing you're overlooking, Mr. Stevens, which I should have
had to tell you to-night, anyway."

"What is it?"

"I'm not worthy of tying up Sylvia's shoes--much less of marrying her.
I've been straight as a string since she came to the farm, but before
that--any one in Hamstead would tell you. It was town talk. I can't,
knowing that, act as I would if I--didn't have that to remember. It's all
very well to say that a man--_gets through_ with all that,
absolutely--I've heard them say it dozens of times! But how can he be
sure he is through--that the old sins won't crop up again? I love Sylvia
more than--than I can possibly talk about, and I'm _afraid_--afraid that
I won't be worthy of her, and that if she gave in absolutely--that I'd
abuse my position."

Uncle Mat glanced up quietly from his cigar. There were tears in the
boy's eyes, his voice trembled. The older man, for a moment, felt
powerless to speak before the penitent sincerity of Austin's confession,
the humility of his bared soul.

"As long as you feel that way," he said at last, a trifle huskily, "I
don't believe there's very much danger--for either of you. And remember
this--lots of good people make mistakes, but if they're made of the right
stuff, they don't make the same mistake but once. And sometimes they gain
more than they lose from a slip-up. You certainly are made of the right
stuff. Perhaps you will go through some experience like what you're
dreading, though I can't foresee what form it will take. Meanwhile
remember that Sylvia's been through an awful ordeal, and be very gentle
with her, though you take the reins in your hands, as you should do. I'm