l me the circumstances."

She did. They were convincing. As I listened, the phantasm of the night
before assumed fainter and fainter proportions. When she had finished I
warmly remarked that I was glad to hear the story of so heroic an act.

And I was. Not that I ascribed too deep a significance to the word which
had escaped Mr. Rathbone on the dock, but because I was glad to have my
instinctive confidence in the man verified by facts.

It seemed to clear the way before me.

"Ellie," said I (it seemed both natural and proper to call her by that
name now), "what explanation would you give if, under any circumstances
(all circumstances are possible, you know), you heard this gentleman
speak of feeling guilty in connection with Gwendolen Ocumpaugh?"

"I should have to know the circumstances," was her quiet answer.

"Let me imagine some. Say that it was night, late night, at an hour when
the most hardened amongst us are in a peculiarly responsive condition;
say that he had been, spending hours near the house of the woman he had
long loved but had quite despaired of winning in his greatly hampered
condition, and with the fever of this longing upon him, but restrained
by emotions the nature of which we can not surmise, had now found his
way down to the river--to the spot where boats have clustered and men
crouched in the gruesome and unavailing search we know of; say that he
hung there long over the water, gazing down in silence, in solitude,
alone, as he thought, with his own conscience and the suggestions
offered by that running stream where some still think, despite facts,
despite all the probabilities, that Gwendolen has found rest, and when
his heart was full, should be seen to strike his breast and utter, with
a quick turn of his face up the hill, this one word, 'Guilty'?"

"What would I think? This: That being overwrought by the struggle you
mention (a struggle we can possibly understand when we consider the
unavoidable consciousness which must be his of the great change which
would be effected in all his prospects if Gwendolen should not be
found), he gave the name of guilt to feelings which some would call
simply human."

"Ellie, you are an oracle." This thought of hers had been my thought
ever since I had had time really to reflect upon the matter. "I wonder
if you will have an equally wise reply to give to my next question?"

"I can not say. I speak from intuition; I am not really wise."

"Intuition is ab