friends.
I am glad of it."

He seldom spoke so frankly, and never had done what he now did--of
his own accord, to take and clasp her hand with a friendly air of
confidence. Long after the pressure passed from Olive's fingers, its
remembrance lingered in her heart. They walked on a little farther; and
then he said, not without some slight agitation,

"Miss Rothesay, if you are indeed my friend, listen to one request I
make;--that you will not say anything, think anything, of whatever part
of my conduct this day may have seemed strange to you. I know not what
fate it is that has thus placed you, a year ago a perfect stranger, in
a position which forces me to speak to you thus. Still less can I tell
what there is in you which draws from me much that no human being has
ever drawn before. Accept this acknowledgment, and pardon me."

"Nay, what have I to pardon? Oh, Mr. Gwynne, if I might be indeed your
friend--if I could but do you any good!"

"You do good to _me?_" he muttered bitterly. "Why, we are as far apart
as earth from heaven, nay, as heaven from hell; that is if there be----.
Madman that I am! Miss Rothesay, do not listen to me. Why do you lead me
on to speak thus?"

"Indeed, I do not comprehend you. Believe me, Mr. Gwynne, I know very
well the difference between us. I am an unlearned woman, and you"----

"Ay, tell me what I am--that is, what you think I am.

"A wise and good man; but yet one in whom great intellect may at times
overpower that simple Faith, which is above all knowledge; that Love,
which, as said the great apostle of our Church"----

"Silence!" His deep voice rose and fell, like the sound of a breaking
wave. Then he stopped, turned full upon her, and said, in a fierce,
keen, whisper, "Would you learn the truth? You shall! Know, then, that I
believe in none of these things I teach--I am an infidel!"

Olive's arm fell from him.

"Do you shrink from me, then? Good and pious woman, do you think I am
Satan standing by your side?"

"Oh, no, no!" She made an effort to restrain herself; it failed, and she
burst into tears.

Harold looked at her.

"Meek and gentle soul! It would, perhaps, have been good for me had
Olive Rothesay been born my sister."

"I would I had--I would I had! But, oh! this is awful to hear. You,
an unbeliever--you, who all these years have been a minister at the
altar--what a fearful thing!"

"You say right--it is fearful. Think now what my life is, and has been.
On