leave you behind. I couldn't now.
But a time will come when we shall have to separate. We've got to face
that."

"Wait till it comes!" she whispered. "It isn't--yet."

He kissed her on the lips. "No, not yet, thank heaven. You want to know
what has happened. I will tell you. Ermsted--you know Ermsted--was shot
in the jungle near Khanmulla this afternoon, about half an hour ago."

"Oh, Everard!" She started back in horror and was struck afresh by the
awful intentness of his eyes.

"Yes," he said. "And if I had been here to receive that message, I could
have prevented it."

"Oh, Everard!" she said again.

He went on doggedly. "I ought to have been here. My agent knew I was in
the place. I ought to have stayed within reach. These warnings might
arrive at any time. I was a damned lunatic, and Ermsted has paid the
price." He stopped, and his look changed. "Poor girl! It's been a shock
to you," he said, "a beastly awakening for us both."

Stella was very pale. "I feel," she said slowly, "as if I were pursued
by a remorseless fate."

"You?" he questioned. "This had nothing to do with you."

She leaned against him. "Wherever I go, trouble follows. Haven't you
noticed it? It seems as if--as if--whichever way I turn--a flaming sword
is stretched out, barring the way." Her voice suddenly quivered. "I know
why,--oh, yes, I know why. It is because once--like the man without a
wedding-garment, I found my way into a forbidden paradise. They hurled
me out, Everard. I was flung into a desert of ashes. And now--now that I
have dared to approach by another way--the sentence has gone forth that
wherever I pass, something shall die. That dreadful man--told me on the
day that Ralph was taken away from me--that the Holy Ones were angry.
And--my dear--he was right. I shall never be pardoned until I
have--somehow--expiated my sin."

"Stella! Stella!" He broke in upon her sharply. "You are talking wildly.
Your sin, as you call it, was at the most no more than a bad mistake.
Can't you put it from you?--get above it? Have you no faith? I thought
all women had that."

She looked at him strangely. "I wasn't brought up to believe in God,"
she said. "At least not personally, not intimately. Were you?"

"Yes," he said.

"Ah!" Her eyes widened a little. "And you still believe in Him--still
believe He really cares--even when things go hopelessly wrong?"

"Yes," he said again. "I can't talk about Him. But I know He's there."

She still