ced myself lately how those lamps
were needed." He paused. "That's a plaguey dark place for lurking and
loitering--that chapel porch."

* * * * *

He was gone; the Reverend Spener had returned from escorting him to the
step and was still formulating praise and gratitude; but Miss Matilda
had not stirred.

"Matilda--! I'm speaking to you. I say--we've been less than just to
Captain Gregson, don't you think? Really, a most hearty, true gentleman.
Did I tell you he's settled the difficulty with Jeremiah's Loo offhand?
Oh, quite. One word from him, and they're asking for a church wedding
now. And there are other things I might tell you as well--"

She turned to look full at her father.

"There is one thing I wish you might tell me. What did you bring that
man here for?"

The pastor went a pinker shade.

"I didn't bring him. He came of his own motion. He desired most
earnestly to come."

"You gave him permission?"

"I did; after he had explained--after he showed me--Matilda.... The
short of it is, we've wronged Captain Gregson. You have heard that he
used to live with a native girl on Napuka?"

"Everybody has heard it."

"Well," said the pastor, solemnly, "he was married to that girl. I've
seen the certificate--quite regular--signed by the Moravian missionary.
There were no children, and also--and also my dear, he is now free. He
received word by yesterday's schooner of the death of--er--Mrs. Gregson.
You see?"

"Ah--!" breathed Miss Matilda, who did indeed begin to see.

He laid a hand on her arm and gave way at last to a paternal quaver.
"Matilda, my child--for you are still a child in many things--I have
taken anxious thought for you of late. Very anxious thought. You must
trust me, my dear. Trust me to do the best for your welfare--and
happiness too--as always. Good night!"...

He left her a dry kiss and a fervent blessing and they parted; the
pastor to write a particularly hopeful mission report, and this child of
his--who was, by the way, twenty-nine years old--to keep a last tryst
with a lawless and forbidden love. She knew it must be the last. For the
previous one, two nights before, had been held in the porch of the
chapel--in that same dark porch so benevolently, so deceitfully
endowed by Captain Hull Gregson....

[Illustration:

_A Rex Ingram--Metro Picture._

_Where the Pavement Ends._

A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY.]

Her own room opened directly on the vera