eople must think me!'

'Does it matter very much what people think?' he said gravely.

'I'm so ashamed of myself. I try to put the thoughts out of my head, but
I can't. I simply can't. I've tried to be brave. I've refused to discuss
the possibility of there being anything in those horrible charges. I
wanted to talk to Dick--I knew he was fond of you--but I didn't dare. It
seemed treacherous to you, and I wouldn't let anyone see that it meant
anything to me. The first letter wasn't so bad, but the second--oh, it
looks so dreadfully true.'

Alec gave her a rapid glance. This was the first he had heard of another
communication to the paper. During the frenzied anxiety of those days at
the colliery, he had had time to attend to nothing but the pressing work
of rescue. But he made no reply.

'I've read it over and over again, and I _can't_ understand. When Bobbie
says it's conclusive, I tell him it means nothing--but--don't you see
what I mean? The uncertainty is more than I can bear.'

She stopped suddenly, and now she looked at him. There was a pitiful
appeal in her eyes.

'At the first moment I felt so absolutely sure of you.'

'And now you don't?' he asked quietly.

She cast down her eyes once more, and a sob caught her breath.

'I trust you just as much as ever. I know it's impossible that you
should have done a shameful deed. But there it stands in black and
white, and you have nothing to say in answer.'

'I know it's very difficult. That's why I asked you to believe in me.'

'I do, Alec,' she cried vehemently. 'With all my soul. But have mercy on
me. I'm not as strong as I thought. It's easy for you to stand alone.
You're iron. You're a mountain of granite. But I'm a weak woman,
pitifully weak.'

He shook his head.

'Oh, no, you're not like other women.'

'It was easy to be brave where my father was concerned, or George, but
now it's so different. Love has changed me. I haven't the courage any
more to withstand the opinion of all my fellows.'

Alec got up and walked once or twice across the room. He seemed to be
thinking deeply. Lucy fancied that he must hear the beating of her
heart. He stopped in front of her. Her heart was wrung by the great pain
that was in his voice.

'Don't you remember that only a few days ago I told you that I'd done
nothing which I wouldn't do again? I gave you my word of honour that I
could reproach myself for nothing.'

'Oh, I know,' she cried. 'I'm so utterly ashamed o