, and beyond pitying any one, though
you are not unkind. I am glad, that if any one was to know my secret, it
should be you. I could not bear pity. It would hurt me. But you are not
unkind."

"Nor kind--nor anything," he said.

"No. It is as though I had spoken to the grave--or to eternity. It is
safe with you."

"Yes. Quite safe. Safer than with the dead."

"He never knew it. Thank God! He never knew it! To me he was always the
same faithful friend. To you he was an enemy, and cruel. I thought him
above cruelty, but he was human, after all. Was it not human, that he
should be cruel to you?"

"Yes," answered Griggs, wondering a little at her speech and tone. "It
was very human."

"And you forgive him for it?"

"I?" There was surprise in his tone.

"Yes," she answered. "I want your forgiveness for him. He died without
your forgiveness. It is the only thing I ask of you--I have not the
right to ask anything, I know, but is it so very much?"

"It is nothing," said Griggs. "There is no such thing as forgiveness in
my world. How could there be? I resent nothing."

"But then, if you do not resent what he did, you have forgiven him. Have
you not?"

"I suppose so." He was puzzled.

"Will you not say it?" she pleaded.

"Willingly," he answered. "I forgive him. I remember nothing against
him."

"Thank you. You are a good man."

He shook his head gravely, but he took her outstretched hand and pressed
it gently.

"Thank you," she repeated, withdrawing hers. "Do not think it strange
that I should ask such a thing. It means a great deal to me. I could not
bear to think that he had left an enemy in the world and was gone where
he could not ask forgiveness for what he had done. So I asked it of you,
for him. I know that he would have wished me to. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Griggs, thoughtfully. "I understand."

Again there was silence for a long time as they stood there. The tears
dried upon the woman's sweet pale face, and a soft light came where the
tears had been.

"Will you come with me?" she asked at last, looking up.

He did not guess what she meant to do, but he left the step on which he
was standing and stood ready.

"It must be late," he said. "Should you like to try and rest? I will
arrange a place for you as well as I can."

"Not yet," she answered. "If you will come with me--" she hesitated.

"Yes?"

"I will say a prayer for the dead," she said, in a low voice. "I always
do, every ni