ore trouble between us. The deed has passed
unsuspected. We should have heard of it long ago if any one had ever
doubted that it was an accident. Let the dead past bury its dead! Let us
be happy."

He looked down upon her as if his will were irresistible; but she
remained unmoved and immovable, and gazed at him with deep, sad eyes in
which he saw his doom.

"No," she answered, calmly, "it is impossible. You need not argue. You
cannot change my mind. I see it all too clearly. We must part."

"Oh! pity me," he cried, falling on his knees. "What shall I do? I
cannot bear this burden alone. It will crush me. Have mercy, Pepeeta. Do
not drive me away. I cannot endure to go forth with this brand of Cain
upon my forehead and realize that I shall never hear from your lips
another word of love or comfort. Pity me. You are not God. He has not
put justice into your hands for execution. You are only human!"

"Alas," she cried, "and all too human. But, my beloved, I am not acting
for myself. It is not my mind or heart that speaks. It is God speaking
through me. I feel myself to be acting under an influence apart from
myself. We have resisted these voices and this influence too long. Now
we must obey them."

"But, Pepeeta," he continued, "you do not really think that you have the
power to suppress the love you feel for me?"

"I shall not try," she answered.

"But can you not see that this passion of ours will bring us together
again? Sooner or later, love will conquer. It conquers or crushes.
Everything gives way to it at last. It disrupts the most solemn
contracts. It burns the strongest bonds like tow. Always and everywhere,
men and women who love will come together. It is the law of life, it is
destiny. We cannot remain apart, we are linked together for time and
eternity."

She listened to him calmly until he had finished and then said,
"Nevertheless, I must go. And I will go now; delay is useless. I see
only too clearly that as long as I am near, you must steadily get worse
instead of better. While you possess the fruits of your sin you will not
truly repent. You must either surrender them or be deprived of them. We
can never become accustomed to this awful secret. Our lives are doomed
to loneliness and sorrow; we must accept our destiny; we must go forth
alone to seek the forgiveness of God. Good-bye; but remember, David, in
every hour of trial, wherever you may be, there will be a never-ceasing
prayer ascending to God