s I had seen it at the moment of
our parting, and my brain rang with his passionate words. "You are my
wife. I am your real husband. We love each other. We shall continue to
love each other. No matter where you are, or what they do with you, you
are mine and always will be."

Something was crying out within me: "Love him! Tell him you love him.
Now, now! He is going away. To-morrow will be too late. Go to him. This
will be your true marriage. The other was only legalised and sanctified
prostitution."

I leapt up, and tearing the door open, I walked with strong steps across
the corridor towards Martin's room.

My hair was down, my arms were bare in the ample sleeves of my
dressing-gown, and my breast was as open as it had been on the balcony,
but I thought nothing of all that.

I did not knock at Martin's door. I took hold of the handle as one who
had a right. It turned of itself and the door opened.

My mind was in a whirl, black rings were circling round my eyes, but I
heard my trembling, quivering, throbbing voice, as if it had been the
voice of somebody else, saying:

"Martin, I am coming in."

Then my heart which had been beating violently seemed to stop. My limbs
gave way. I was about to fall.

At the next moment strong arms were around me. I had no fear. But there
was a roaring in my brain such as the ice makes when it is breaking up.

Oh, you good women, who are happy in the love that guards you,
shields you, shelters you, wraps you round and keeps you pure and
true, tread lightly over the prostrate soul of your sister in her
hour of trial and fierce temptation.

And you blessed and holy saints who kneel before the Mother of all
Mothers, take the transgression of her guilty child to Him
who--long ago in the house of the self-righteous Pharisee--said to
the woman who was a sinner and yet loved much--the woman who had
washed His feet with her tears and dried them with the hair of her
head--"Thy sins are forgiven thee."

FIFTH PART

I BECOME A MOTHER

SEVENTIETH CHAPTER

Next morning, at half-past eight, my Martin left me.

We were standing together in the boudoir between the table and the fire,
which was burning briskly, for the sultry weather had gone in the night,
and the autumn air was keen, though the early sun was shining.

At the last moment he was unwilling to go, and it was as much as I could
do to persuade him. Perhaps it is one