, I always knew it was--by mistake."

"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" He laughed outright, getting up from his chair and
dragging himself heavily across the room, where, with his hands in his
pockets and his back against the bookshelves, he stood facing her. "What
do you think of Bienville's attitude toward Marion Grimston?" he asked,
with an inflection that would have sounded casual if it had not been for
all that lay behind.

"I can understand it; but I think he was wrong."

"You think he ought to allow her to marry him?"

"Weighing one thing with another--yes."

"Would you marry a man who had shown himself such a hound?"

"It would depend."

"On what?"

"Oh, on a good many things."

"Such as--?"

She hesitated a minute before deciding whether or not to walk into his
trap, but, as his eyes were on the ground and she felt stronger than a
minute or two ago, she decided to do it.

"It would depend, for one thing, on whether or not I loved him."

"And if you did love him?"

Again she hesitated, before making up her mind to speak.

"Then it would depend on whether or not he loved me."

She had given him his chance. The word he had never uttered must come
now or never. For an instant he seemed about to seize his opportunity;
but when he actually spoke it was only to say:

"Would _you_ marry _me_?"

"No." She gave her answer firmly.

"No?"

"No."

"Why?"

She shrugged her shoulders and threw out her hands, but said nothing in
words.

"Is it because I haven't expressed regret for all the things I have--to
regret?"

She shook her head.

"Because if it is," he went on, "I haven't done it only for the reason
that the utmost expression would be so inadequate as to become a
mockery. When a man has sinned against light, as I've done, no mere
cries of contrition are going to win him pardon. That must come as a
spontaneous act of grace, as it wells out of the heart of the Most
High--or it can't come at all."

"That isn't the reason."

"Then there's another one?"

"Yes; another one."

"One that's insurmountable?"

"Yes, as things are--that's insurmountable."

With a look of dumb, unresenting sadness, he turned away, and, leaning
on the mantelpiece, stood with his back toward her, and his face buried
in his hands.

[Illustration: DRAWN BY FRANK CRAIG
"SINCE THE INNER SHRINE IS UNLOCKED--AT LAST--I'LL GO IN"]

Minutes went by in silence. When he spoke it was over his shoulder, and,
as it were, parent