ation every bit as much as in those of my own. For her station in
life she was a woman of remarkable qualities and character. She had made
an ugly, a repulsive marriage, and she was childless.--More than this it
is not seemly I should tell you."

Charles Verity waited a minute or so. He still coaxed Damaris' hand,
calmly, soothingly. And she lay very still watching him; but with
half-closed eyes, striving to prevent the tears which asked so
persistently to be shed. For her heart went out to him in a new and
over-flowing tenderness, in an exalted pity almost maternal. Never had she
felt him more attractive, more, in a sense, royally lovable than in this
hour of weariness, of moral nakedness, and humiliation.

"Not until I had rejoined my regiment in India," he presently continued,
in the same low even tones, "did I hear of the birth of her son. I have
never seen him--or made enquiries regarding him. I meant to let the
dead bury its dead in this matter. For everyone concerned it seemed best
and wisest so. Therefore all you have told me to-night comes as news to
me--and in some respects as good news. For I gather I have no reason to
be ashamed of this young man--which on your account, even more than on my
own, is so much clear gain.--But I oughtn't to have brought you here to
live at Deadham. I ought to have taken the possibility of some accidental
revelation, such as the present one, into serious account and saved you
from that. To expose you, however remotely, to the risk was both callous
and stupid on my part. I own I have a strong sentiment for this house. It
seemed natural and restful to return to it--the only house to call a
home, I have ever had. And so much has happened during the last eight or
nine-and-twenty years, to occupy my mind, that I had grown indifferent
and had practically forgotten the risks. This was selfish,
self-indulgent, lacking in consideration and reverence towards you,
towards your peace of mind, your innocence.--And for it, my darling, I
beg your forgiveness."

Damaris sat up in the bed, raised her face to be kissed.

"No--no," she implored him, "don't say that. I can't bear to have you say
it--to have you speak as if you had been, could ever be anything but
beautiful and perfect towards me. I can't have you, not even for a little
minute, step down, from the high place, which is your own, and talk of
forgiveness. It hurts me.--I begin to understand that your world, a man's
world, is differen