unity we will write to each other. And, who knows--I may yet come
back to you? God has preserved his servants in dangers as great as any
that I shall encounter. May that merciful God bless and protect you!
Oh, Romayne, what happy days we have had together!" His last powers of
resistance were worn out. Tears of noble sorrow dimmed the friendly
eyes which had never once looked unkindly on the brother of his love. He
kissed Romayne. "Help me out!" he said, turning blindly toward the hall,
in which the servant was waiting. That last act of mercy was not left
to a servant. With sisterly tenderness, Stella took his hand and led him
away. "I shall remember you gratefully as long as I live," she said to
him when the carriage door was closed. He waved his hand at the window,
and she saw him no more.

She returned to the study.

The relief of tears had not come to Romayne. He had dropped into a chair
when Penrose left him. In stony silence he sat there, his head down,
his eyes dry and staring. The miserable days of their estrangement were
forgotten by his wife in the moment when she looked at him. She knelt
by his side and lifted his head a little and laid it on her bosom. Her
heart was full--she let the caress plead for her silently. He felt it;
his cold fingers pressed her hand thankfully; but he said nothing. After
a long interval, the first outward expression of sorrow that fell from
his lips showed that he was still thinking of Penrose.

"Every blessing falls away from me," he said. "I have lost my best
friend."

Years afterward Stella remembered those words, and the tone in which he
had spoken them.

CHAPTER VII.

THE IMPULSIVE SEX.

AFTER a lapse of a few days, Father Benwell was again a visitor at
Ten Acres Lodge--by Romayne's invitation. The priest occupied the very
chair, by the study fireside, in which Penrose had been accustomed to
sit.

"It is really kind of you to come to me," said Romayne, "so soon after
receiving my acknowledgment of your letter. I can't tell you how I
was touched by the manner in which you wrote of Penrose. To my shame I
confess it, I had no idea that you were so warmly attached to him."

"I hardly knew it myself, Mr. Romayne, until our dear Arthur was taken
away from us."

"If you used your influence, Father Benwell, is there no hope that you
might yet persuade him--?"

"To withdraw from the Mission? Oh, Mr. Romayne, don't you know Arthur's
character better than that? Even his