of such truth in the note she had sounded,
that the lonely girl's heart went out to her in abandoned fulness. She
held out her arms; and, as she came close to the other, fell rather than
sank at her feet. The elder woman recognised, and knew. She made no
effort to restrain her; but sinking back into her own seat laid the
girl's head in her lap, and held her hands close against her breast.

'Tell me,' she whispered. 'Won't you tell me, dear child, what troubles
you? Tell me! dear. It may bring peace!'

'Oh, I am miserable, miserable, miserable!' moaned Stephen in a low voice
whose despair made the other's heart grow cold. The Silver Lady knew
that here golden silence was the best of help; holding close the other's
hands, she waited. Stephen's breast began to heave; with an impulsive
motion she drew away her hands and put them before her burning face,
which she pressed lower still on the other's lap. Sister Ruth knew that
the trouble, whatever it was, was about to find a voice. And then came
in a low shuddering whisper a voice muffled in the folds of the dress:

'I killed a man!'

In all her life the Silver Lady had never been so startled or so shocked.
She had grown so to love the bright, brilliant young girl that the
whispered confession cut through the silence of the dusk as a shriek of
murder goes through the silent gloom of night. Her hands flew wide from
her breast, and the convulsive shudder which shook her all in an instant
woke Stephen through all her own deep emotion to the instinct of
protection of the other. The girl looked up, shaking her head, and said
with a sadness which stilled all the other's fear:

'Ah! Don't be frightened! It is not murder that I tell you of. Perhaps
if it were, the thought would be easier to bear! He would have been hurt
less if it had been only his body that I slew. Well I know now that his
life would have been freely given if I wished it; if it had been for my
good. But it was the best of him that I killed; his soul. His noble,
loving, trusting, unselfish soul. The bravest and truest soul that ever
had place in a man's breast! . . . ' Her speaking ended with a sob; her
body sank lower.

Sister Ruth's heart began to beat more freely. She understood now, and
all the womanhood, all the wifehood, motherhood suppressed for a
lifetime, awoke to the woman's need. Gently she stroked the beautiful
head that lay so meekly on her lap; and as the girl sobbed with but