hat is attached to these causes
must be drawn up by them like the links in a chain, and one never knows
when the end has come."

His solemn manner and earnest words alarmed Pepeeta.

"Oh, David," she cried, "it cannot, cannot be so awful. Such
consequences cannot hang upon the deeds we commit in the limitations and
ignorance of this earthly life."

"Forgive me, Pepeeta, I should not talk so. These are the fears of my
darker moments. I have brighter thoughts and hopes. There is a quiet
feeling in my heart about the future that grows with the passing days.
God is good, and he will give us strength to meet whatever comes. We
must live, and while we live we will hope for the best. Life is a gift,
and it is our duty to enjoy it."

"Oh! it is good to hear you say that! It comforts me. I think it cannot
be possible that we should not be able to escape from this darkness if
we are willing to follow the divine light."

"I think so, too," he said.

His words were spoken with such assurance as to awaken a vague surmise
that he had reasons which he had not told. She pressed his hands and
besought him to explain.

"Oh! tell me," she said eagerly; "is there anything new? Has anything
happened?"

"Pepeeta," he answered slowly, "we have been strangely and kindly dealt
with. It is not quite so bad as it seemed, for I did not kill him."

"You did not kill him! What do you mean?"

"No, it is a strange story! I thought I had killed him. I knew murder
was in my heart. It was no fault of mine that the blow was not fatal. I
left him in the road for dead. But, thank God, he did not die; he did
not die then!"

"He did, not die then? Have you seen him? Is he dead now? Tell me! Tell
me!"

Quietly, gently, briefly as he could, he narrated the events of the past
few months, and as he did so she drew in short breaths or long
inspirations as the story shifted from phase to phase, and when at last
he had finished, she clasped her hands and gazed up into the depths of
the sky with eyes that were swimming in tears.

"Poor doctor, poor old man," Pepeeta sighed at last. "Oh! How we have
wronged him, how we have made him suffer. He was always kind! He was
rough, but he was kind. Oh! why could I not have loved him? But I did
not, I could not. My heart was asleep. It had never once waked from its
slumber until it heard your voice, David. And, afterwards,--well I could
not love him! But why should we have wronged him so? How base it was!
How