ry soon. If you think it better,
do say so, and we'll talk about it as friends.'

'I don't think anything of the kind. I shouldn't let you go, say what
you might.'

'You wouldn't? But if you find that you _can't_ believe me----'

'It would make no difference, even that. But I do believe you.'

She drew nearer, looking wistfully into his face.

'But _she_ has made her husband believe her. You will always think of
that--always.'

'You must remember, Alma, that I have no serious reason for doubting
her word.'

She uttered a cry of distress.

'Then you doubt mine!--you doubt mine!'

'Nonsense, dear. Do try to think and talk more reasonably. What is it
to you and me whether she was guilty or not? I may doubt your judgment
about her, and yet believe perfectly all you tell me about yourself.'

'Then you think I have slandered her?'

'There's no earthly use in talking about it. You can give no reasons;
you _have_ no reasons. Your suspicion may be right or wrong; I don't
care the toss of a button. All I know is, that we mustn't talk of it.
Sit down and be quiet for a little. Oughtn't you to eat something
before you go up?'

Alma put her hands upon his shoulders, bending her face so as to hide
it from him.

'Dear--if you could just say that you believe me; not about myself--I
know you do--but about _her_. Could you say that?'

He hesitated, all a man's common-sense in revolt against the entreaty;
but he saw her quiver with a sob, and yielded.

'Very well, I will believe that too.'

Her touch became an embrace, gentle and timid; she threw her head back,
gazing at him in rapture.

'You will never again doubt it?'

'Never again.'

'Oh, you are good!--you are kind to me, dear! And will you love me a
little? Do you think you can, just a little?'

His answer satisfied her, and she lay in his arms, shedding tears of
contentment. Then, for a long time, she talked of the new life before
them. She would be everything he wished; no moment's trouble should
ever again come between him and her. Nothing now had any charm for her
but the still, happy life of home; her ambitions were all dead and
buried. And Harvey answered her with tenderness; forgetting the doubt,
refusing to look forward, knowing only that Alma had a place for ever
in his heart.

Tonight she must sleep. Whilst undressing she measured the familiar
draught of oblivion, and said to herself: 'The last time.' She lay down
in darkness, closed her eyes, a