parkled with fun even then. "You know--ah, I see you do! You
will never forget that, will you? Perhaps you thought I didn't notice,
but I did. Neither you nor I chose it; it was Fate; perhaps it was your
God, Peter. But, anyway, look at me now as you looked then. What do you
see?"

He stared at her, and he saw--how clearly he saw! Her sweet back-bent
head, her shining eyes, the lamp-light falling on her hair out of the
night. He even heard the sea as it beat on the stones of the quay--or
thought he did--and felt the whip of the wind. And behind her,
dominating, arms outspread, the harbour crucifix. And she saw that he
saw, and she whispered: "_Do_ you hate Him, Peter?" And he sank his head
into her hands and sobbed great dry sobs.

"Ah, don't, don't," he heard her say--"don't Peter! It's not so bad as
that. Your life is going to be full, my beloved, with a great and burning
love; and you were right this morning, Peter, more right than you knew.
When that is there you will have place even for me--yes, even for me, the
love of what you will call your sin. And I, my dear, dear boy, I have
something even now which no devil, Peter, and no god can take away."

He looked up. "Then there's a chance, Julie. You won't say 'Yes,' but
don't say 'No.' Let us see. I shall take no vows, Julie. I haven't an
idea what I shall do, and maybe it won't be quite as you think, and there
will be a little room for you one day. Oh, say you'll wait a while,
Julie, just to see!"

It was the supreme moment. She saw no crucifix to sustain her, but she
did see the bastard Spanish dancing-girl. And she did not hesitate. "No,
Peter," she said, "I would not take that, and you never could give it. I
did not mean such place as that. It never can be, Peter; you are not
made for me."

And thus did Julie, who knew no God, but Julie of the brave, clean,
steadfast heart, give Peter to Him.

* * * * *

The maid came in answer to her ring. "Will you light a fire, please?"
said Julie. "I suppose Captain Graham has gone?"

"Yes, mam, he's gone, and he felt it terrible, I could see. But don't you
fear, mam, he'll be kept, I know he will. You're that good, he'll come
back to you, never fear. But it's 'ard on those they leave, ain't it,
mam?--their wives an' all."

"Yes," said Julie, and she never spoke more bravely. "But it's got to be,
hasn't it? Would you pull the blind up? Ah, thanks; why, it's sunny! I'm
so glad. It will