u have to go through. As my
wife, no one will dare to insult you or to misconstrue your evidence;
for your marriage will have given the lie beforehand to the worst
comment that can be made, namely, that you still love Heathcote, and
hope, if he is acquitted, to be his wife. It will be said that you loved
him once, but that this tragedy has changed the feeling, and you will be
called noble in coming forward of your own accord to acknowledge an
avowal which must be now painful to you in the extreme. The 'unknown
young girl' will be unknown no longer, when she comes forward as Gregory
Dexter's wife, with Gregory Dexter by her side to give her, in the eyes
of all men, his proud protection and respect."

Anne's face responded to the warm earnestness of these words: she had
never felt herself so powerfully drawn toward him as at that moment.

"As to love, Anne," he continued, his voice softening, "do not fancy
that I am feigning anything when I say that I do love you. The feeling
has grown up unconsciously. I shall love you very dearly when you are my
wife; you could command me, child, to almost any extent. As for your
feeling toward me--marry me, and I will _make_ you love me." He drew her
toward him. "I am not too old, too old for you, am I?" he said, gently.

"It is not that," she answered, in deep distress. "Oh, why, why have you
said this?"

"Well, because I am fond of you, I suppose," said Dexter, smiling. He
thought she was yielding.

"You do not understand," she said, breaking from him. "You are generous
and kind, the best friend I have ever had, and it is for that reason, if
for no other, that I would never wrong you by marrying you, because--"

"Because?" repeated Dexter.

"Because I still love him."

"Heathcote?"

"Yes."

His face changed sharply, yet he continued his urging. "Even if you do
love him, you would not marry him _now_."

She did not answer.

"You would not marry him with poor Helen's blood between you?"

"It is not between us. He is innocent."

"But if, after escaping conviction, it should yet be made clear to
you--perhaps to you alone--that he _was_ guilty, then would you marry
him?"

"No. But the very greatness of his crime would make him in a certain way
sacred to me on account of the terrible remorse and anguish he would
have to endure."

"A good way to punish criminals," said Dexter, bitterly. "To give them
your love and your life, and make them happy."

"He would not be hap