ome Nature to bear and nurture babes, it was that woman, who died
to prove the possibility of carrying on the business of living according
to his damned theories."

His broad chest heaved; a mist came before his eyes; his deep vibrating
voice had in it a passionate appeal to her.

"The nun would tell you that in the lofty, mystical sense marriage and
motherhood are hers, 'Christ being her Spouse.' I echo this in no spirit
of mockery. But this woman of whom I have told you knew no vocation and
took no vow. She merely tried to ignore the fundamental truth that every
normal woman of healthy instincts was meant to be a mother."

He added:

"And every husband who loves his wife sees his manhood proved and
perfected in her. She was dear and beloved before; she is holy,
sacred--worshipped in his eyes, when they look upon his child in her arms,
at her breast."

Something like a sob broke from him. His heart cried:

"Lynette! have pity upon yourself and upon me!"

He stood and waited for her reply. She was so exquisite and so full of
womanly allure, and yet so crystal-cold and passionless, that he knew his
arguments thrown away, his entreaties mere dust upon the wind.

"Tell me," he said at length, "do I inspire you with antipathy? Am I
physically repulsive to you, or disagreeable? Answer me frankly, for in
that case I would--cease to urge my suit with you, and go upon my way,
wherever it might lead me."

She looked at him, and there was no shrinking in her regard--only a gentle
friendliness, as far removed from the feeling he would have roused in her
as the North is from the South.

"I will tell you exactly how I feel towards you." He writhed under the
knowledge that it was possible to her to analyse and to explain. "I like
you, Dr. Saxham. I am deeply grateful to you----"

"Gratitude!" He shrugged his shoulders. "You owe me none; and even if you
did, what use is gratitude to a man who asks for love?"

"I trust you; I rely upon you," she said. "It is--pleasant to me to know
that you are near." A line of perplexity came between the dark fine
eyebrows; the sweet colour in her face wavered and sank. "But--if you were
to touch me--to take me in your arms--I----" She shivered.

"You need not say more!" If she was pale, Saxham's stern, square face was
ashen. His eyes glowered and fell under hers, and a purple vein swelled in
the middle of his broad white forehead. "I understand!"

"You do not understand quite yet." Sh