its deepest shadow. "You do not
despise me then," he exclaimed "My sin has not utterly blotted me out of
your regard?"

The glance with which she replied seemed to fill the whole room with its
radiance. "I am only beginning to realize the worth of the man who has
hitherto been a mystery to me," she declared. Then as he shook his head,
added with a serious air, "The question with all true hearts must ever
be, not what a man has been, but what he is. He who for the sake of
shielding the innocent from shame and sorrow, would have taken upon
himself the onus of a past disgrace, is not unworthy a woman's
devotion."

Mr. Sylvester smiled mournfully, and stroked her hand which he had taken
in his. "Poor little one," he murmured. "I know not whether to feel
proud or sorry for your trust and tender devotion. It would have been a
great and unspeakable grief to me to have lost your regard, but it might
have been better if I had; it might have been much better for you if I
had!"

"What, why do you say that?" she asked, with a startled gleam in her
eye. "Do you think I am so eager for ease and enjoyment, that it will be
a burden for me to bear the pain of those I love? A past pain, too," she
added, "that will grow less and less as the days go by and happiness
increases."

He put her back with a quick hand. "Do not make it any harder for me
than necessary," he entreated, "Do you not see that however gentle may
be your judgment of my deserts, we can never marry, Paula?"

The eyes which were fixed on his, deepened passionately. "No," she
whispered, "no; not if your remorse for the past is all that separates
us. The man who has conquered himself, has won the right to conquer the
heart of a woman. I can say no more--" She timidly held out her hand.

He grasped it with a man's impetuosity and pressed it to his heart, but
he did not retain it. "Blessings upon you, dear and noble heart!" he
cried. "God will hear my prayers and make you happy--but not with me.
Paula," he passionately continued, taking her in his arms and holding
her to his breast, "it cannot be. I love you--I will not, dare not say,
how much--but love is no excuse for wronging you. My remorse is not all
that separates us; possible disgrace lies before me; public exposure at
all events; I would indeed be lacking in honor were I to subject you to
these."

"But," she stammered, drawing back to look into his face, "I thought
that was all over; that the man had promised