ce.

"I hesitated," she said, "because I did not feel sure whether I had the
right to speak of it as an alleviation. I meant--the only thing that
makes life bearable at all is the trying to do right; and, when one has
failed in doing it, to get back to the right path as soon as possible,
leaving the sin and misery behind."

He still held her hands, and he looked down at the slender wrists (where
the blue veins showed so much more distinctly than they used to do) with
something like a sigh.

"If one failure grieves you in this way, Elizabeth, what would you do if
you had chosen a path from which you could not turn back, although you
knew that it was wrong? There are many men and women whose lives are
based upon what you would call, I suppose, wrong-doing."

There was little of his usual sneering emphasis in the words. His face
had fallen into an expression of trouble and sadness which it did not
often wear; but there was so much less hardness in its lines than there
had been of late that Elizabeth felt that she might answer him freely
and frankly.

"I don't think there is any path of wrong-doing from which one might not
turn back, Percival. And it seems to me that the worst misery one could
go through would be the continuing in any such path; because the
consciousness of wrong would spoil all the beauty of life and take the
flavour out of every enjoyment. It would end, I think, by breaking ones
heart altogether."

"A true woman's view," said Percival, starting up and releasing her
hands, "but not one that is practicable in the world of men. I suppose
you think you know one man, at least, who would come up to your ideal in
that respect?"

"I know several; you amongst them," she replied. "I am sure you would
not deliberately do a wicked, dishonourable action for the world."

"You have more faith in me than I deserve," he said, walking restlessly
up and down the room. "I am not so sure--but of one thing I am quite
sure, Elizabeth," and he came up to her and put his hands on her
shoulders, "I am quite sure that you are the best and truest woman that
ever lived, and I beg your pardon if I seemed for one moment to doubt
you. Will you grant it to me, darling?"

For the first time since the beginning of the visit, she looked at him
gratefully, and even affectionately.

"I have nothing to forgive you," she said. "If only I could forgive
myself!" And then she burst into tears, and Percival forgot his
ill-humour and hi