ght. Confused and
bewildered as his mind was by the events of the night, there was
something in his daughter's demeanour that gave him hope for the future.

"I must think, Mary," he said. "I've had a trying day, and I do not
think I'm very well. I want to be alone a little while, and
then--well, perhaps in the morning I shall know better what I can do.
Good-night, little girl!"

He rose to his feet as he spoke and kissed her. Then he led her out of
the room again.

"Oh, my God!" he said. "My punishment is greater than I can bear. For
that one deed of wrong, of cowardice, must I suffer this?"

He went into the dressing-room and bathed his head in cold water. It
seemed to him as though his brain were on fire. A few minutes later he
felt better. He could think again. He sat in an arm-chair beside the
fire and reviewed the past. His mind went back to the time when he, a
free-hearted lad, went on a walking tour with some other fellows among
the English lakes, and then on to Scotland. He had been full of good
resolutions, and his heart was light and free. He had meant no harm
when he made Jean Lindsay love him, but he had never dreamt of what
would follow. And then, then all the ensuing events passed before his
mind in ghastly procession. What must he do?

In spite of everything, Judge Bolitho believed himself to be a
religious man. He had identified himself with religious movements, had
professed himself a believer in prayer. In one sense he was a man of
the world, keen as far as his profession went, eager for his own
advancement. But in another he had held fast to the faith of his
childhood. He had had a religious training, and while both his father
and mother had died when he was young, he had never forgotten their
teaching, and had never been able to shake himself free from early
associations.

Almost like a man in a dream, he knelt down by the chair and tried to
pray. What must he do? Life was a tangle, but he entangled it yet
farther himself. He, by his own act, had made everything difficult,
terrible, tragic. His conscience was roused within him, and as he
prayed he seemed to see, as though in a vision, the road he ought to
take.

"No, not that!" he cried. "Not that! Great God, not that! I could
not do it! I could not do it!"

He rose from his knees and began to pace the room. His mind was clear
enough now, for God had spoken.

"But I cannot do it," he said. "If I do what seems