ere unexpectedly came to me an opportunity to go out with
Albrecht, and I accepted it most thankfully. It gave me a chance to
think of other things, to work hard, to forget myself in a growing
ambition. I had already thrown off the old, and was laying ever firmer
hands upon the new, when you came into my life, and then he came back
also. It is such a small world, such a little world, all shadowed and
full of heartaches!"

In the silence she glanced aside at him, her eyes clear, her hair held
back by one hand.

"Please do not look at me like that," she pleaded. "Surely, you cannot
blame me; you must forgive."

"There is nothing to blame, or forgive, Beth; apparently there is
nothing for me to say, nothing for me to do."

She swayed slowly toward him, resting one hand upon his shoulder.

"But am I right? Won't you tell me if I am right?"

He stood hesitating for a moment, looking down upon that upturned,
questioning face, his gray eyes filled with a loyalty that caused her
heart to throb wildly.

"I do not know, Beth," he said at last, "I do not know; I cannot be
your conscience. I must go out where I can be alone and think; but
never will I come between you and your God."

CHAPTER XIX

THE POINT OF VIEW

She sank back upon the chair, her face completely hidden within her
arms. Winston, his hand already grasping the latch of the door, paused
and glanced around at her, a sudden revulsion of feeling leaving him
unnerved and purposeless. He had been possessed by but one thought, a
savage determination to seek out Farnham and kill him. The brute was
no more than a mad dog who had bitten one he loved; he was unworthy of
mercy. But now, in a revealing burst of light, he realized the utter
futility of such an act. Coward, brutal as the man unquestionably was,
he yet remained her husband, bound to her by ties she held
indissoluble. Any vengeful blow which should make her a widow would as
certainly separate the slayer from her forever. Unavoidably though it
might occur, the act was one never to be forgiven by Beth Norvell,
never to be blotted from her remembrance. Winston appreciated this as
though a sudden flash-light had been turned upon his soul. He had
looked down into her secret heart, he had had opened before him the
religious depth of her nature--this bright-faced, brown-eyed woman
would do what was right although she walked a pathway of self-denying
agony. Never once did he doubt this tru