othing left for me."

"But, Jo--is this--this affair quite finished? Perhaps ... I mean to
say, quarrels can be made up, you know."

"Not this one," said Joanna. "It's been too much. For days I've watched
him getting tired of me, and last night he turned on me because for his
sake I'd done what no woman should do."

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she was dismayed. She had
not meant to say them. Would Lawrence understand? What would he think of
her?--a clergyman.... She turned on him a face crimson and suffused with
tears, to meet a gaze as serene as ever. Then suddenly a new feeling
came to her--something apart from horror at herself and shame at his
knowing, and yet linked strangely with them both--something which was
tenderer than any shame and yet more ruthless.... Her last guard broke
down.

"Lawrence, I've been wicked, I've been bad--I'm sorry--Lawrence."...

"Tell me as little or as much as you like, dear Jo."

Joanna gripped his arm; she had driven him into the corner of the seat,
where he sat with his bundle on his lap, his ear bent to her mouth,
while she crowded up against him, pouring out her tale. Every now and
then he said gently--"Sh-sh-sh"--when he thought that her confession was
penetrating the further recesses of Charing Cross....

"Oh, Lawrence, I feel so bad--I feel so wicked--I never should have
thought it of myself. I didn't feel wicked at first, but I did
afterwards. Oh, Lawrence, tell me what I'm to do."

His professional instinct taught him to treat the situation with
simplicity, but he guessed that Joanna would not appreciate the quiet
dealings of the confessional. He had always liked Joanna, always admired
her, and he liked and admired her no less now, but he really knew very
little of her--her life had crossed his only on three different brief
occasions, when she was engaged to his brother, when she was anxious to
appoint a Rector to the living in her gift, and now when as a
broken-hearted woman she relieved herself of a burden of sorrow.

"Lawrence--tell me what to do."

"Dear Jo--I'm not quite sure.... I don't know what you want, you see.
What I should want first myself would be absolution."

"Oh, don't you try none of your Jesoot tricks on me--I couldn't bear
it."

"Very well. Then I think there's only one thing you can do, and that is
to go home and take up your life where you left it, with a very humble
heart. 'I shall go softly all my days in the bitterness