xed her to sit down again, put his strong hand on her quivering
one, marveling in tenderness at its smallness and softness. He talked to
her in quiet, soothing tones, grave and reassuring. He promised he would
talk no more about the Presence till she was ready to hear. He was
leaning toward her in his strength, his arm behind her, his hand on her
shoulder, with a sheltering, comforting touch when he told her this, as
one would treat a little child in trouble, and, suddenly, like the sun
flashing out from behind the clouds, she lifted up her teary face and
smiled, nestling toward him, her head falling down on his shoulder with
a sigh like a tired, satisfied child, her face lifted temptingly so
close, so very close to his.

It was then that he did the thing that bound him to what followed. He
stooped and laid his lips upon her warm little trembling ones and kissed
her. The thrill that shot through him was like the click of shackles
snapping shut about one's wrist; like the turning of the key in a
prison-house; the shooting of the bolt to one's dark cell. He held her
there and touched her soft hair with his finger-tips; touched her cool
little forehead with his lips; touched her warm, soft lips again and
felt the thrill; but something was the matter. He felt the surging
forces within him rise and batter at the gate of his self-control. He
wanted to say, "Gila, I love you!" but the words stuck in his throat.

What had he done? Whence came this sense of defeat and loss? The
Presence! Where was the Presence? Yes--there--but withdrawn, standing
apart in sadness, while he sat comforting and caressing one who had just
said she hated Him! But that was because she had not seen Him yet! She
was frightened because she did not understand! He would yet be able to
make her see! He would implore the Presence to come to her; to break
down her prejudice; to let her have the vision also!

So he sat and comforted her, yet longed to get away and think it out.
This sense of depression and bitter disappointment hung about him like a
burden; now, of all times, when he should be happy if ever he was to be!

But Gila was nestling close, patting his sleeve, talking little, sweet
nonsensical words as if she had really been the little child she seemed.
He looked down at her and smiled. How small she was, and child-like. He
must remember that she was very young, and probably had never had much
bringing-up. Serious things frightened her! He must go