with her he had admitted that
Leonard had told him much, all. He would no doubt have refused to
believe him, and Leonard would have shown him, as proof, her letter
asking him to meet her. He would have seen then, as she did now, how
much the possession of that letter might mean to any one.

Good God! to 'any one.' Could it have been so to Harold himself . . .
that he thought to use it as an engine, to force her to meet his
wishes--as Leonard had already tried to do! The mistrust, founded on her
fear, was not dead yet . . . No! no! no! Her whole being resented such a
monstrous proposition! Besides, there was proof. Thank God! there was
proof. A blackmailer would have stayed close to her, and would have kept
the letter; Harold did neither. Her recognition of the truth was shown
in her act, when, stretching out her arms in the darkness, she whispered
pleadingly:

'Forgive me, Harold!'

And Harold, far away where the setting sun was lying red on the rim of
the western sea, could not hear her. But perhaps God did.

As, then, Harold's motive was not of the basest, it must have been of the
noblest. What would be a man's noblest motive under such circumstances?
Surely self-sacrifice!

And yet there could be no doubt as to Harold's earnestness when he had
told her that he loved her . . .

Here Stephen covered her face in one moment of rapture. But the gloom
that followed was darker than the night. She did not pursue the thought.
That would come later when she should understand.

And yet, so little do we poor mortals know the verities of things, so
blind are we to things thrust before our eyes, that she understood more
in that moment of ecstasy than in all the reasoning that preceded and
followed it. But the reasoning went on:

If he really loved, and told her so, wherein was the self-sacrifice? She
had reproached him with coming to her with his suit hotfoot upon his
knowledge of her shameful proffer of herself to another man; of her
refusal by him. Could he have been so blind as not to have seen, as she
did, the shameful aspect of his impulsive act? Surely, if he had
thought, he must have seen! . . . And he must have thought; there had
been time for it. It was at dinner that he had seen Leonard; it was
after breakfast when he had seen her . . . And if he had seen then . . .

In an instant it all burst upon her; the whole splendid truth. He had
held back the expression of his long love for her, waitin