face bent down over her.

'Oh, Robert!' she sobbed at last, putting up her hand and touching his
hair, 'you look so pale, so sad.'

'I have you again!' he said simply.

A thrill of remorse ran through her.

'I went away,' she murmured, her face still hidden--'I went away,
because when I woke up it all seemed to me, suddenly, too ghastly to be
believed; I could not stay still and bear it. But, Robert, Robert, I
kissed you as I passed! I was so thankful you could sleep a little and
forget. I hardly know where I have been most of the time--I think I have
been sitting in a corner of the park, where no one ever comes. I began
to think of all you said to me last night--to put it together--to try
and understand it, and it seemed to me more and more horrible! I thought
of what it would be like to have to hide my prayers from you--my faith
in Christ--my hope of heaven. I thought of bringing up the child--how
all that was vital to me would be a superstition to you, which you would
bear with for my sake. I thought of death,' and she shuddered--'your
death, or my death, and how this change in you would cleave a gulf of
misery between us. And then I thought of losing my own faith, of denying
Christ. It was a nightmare--I saw myself on a long road, escaping with
Mary in my arms, escaping from you! Oh, Robert! it wasn't only for
myself,'--and she clung to him as though she were a child, confessing,
explaining away, some grievous fault hardly to be forgiven. 'I was
agonised by the thought that I was not my own--I and my child were
_Christ's_. Could I risk what was His? Other men and women had died, had
given up all for His sake. Is there no one now strong enough to suffer
torment, to kill even love itself rather than deny Him--rather than
crucify Him afresh?'

She paused, struggling for breath. The terrible excitement of that
bygone moment had seized upon her again and communicated itself to him.

'And then--and then,' she said sobbing, 'I don't know how it was. One
moment I was sitting up looking straight before me, without a tear,
thinking of what was the least I must do, even--even--if you and I
stayed together--of all the hard compacts and conditions I must
make--judging you all the while from a long, long distance, and feeling
as though I had buried the old self--sacrificed the old heart--for ever!
And the next I was lying on the ground crying for you, Robert, crying
for you! Your face had come back to me as you lay there in