fear or regret. I face it as we must all face the inevitable--the gifts
from the hands of destiny. And I am heart-ened--gladdened almost--by
your sweet forgive-ness."

She rose suddenly, and came to him. She caught his arm, and standing
very close to him, looked up now into his face.

"We have need to forgive each other, you and I, Oliver," she said. "And
since forgiveness effaces all, let... let all that has stood between us
these last five years be now effaced."

He caught his breath as he looked down into her white, straining face

"Is it impossible for us to go back five years? Is it impossible for us
to go back to where we stood in those old days at Godolphin Court?"

The light that had suddenly been kindled in his face faded slowly,
leaving it grey and drawn. His eyes grew clouded with sorrow and
despair.

"Who has erred must abide by his error--and so must the generations that
come after him. There is no going back ever. The gates of the past are
tight-barred against us."

"Then let us leave them so. Let us turn our backs upon that past, you
and I, and let us set out afresh together, and so make amends to each
other for what our folly has lost to us in those years."

He set his hands upon her shoulders, and held her so at arm's length
from him considering her with very tender eyes.

"Sweet lady!" he murmured, and sighed heavily. "God! How happy might
we not have been but for that evil chance...." He checked abruptly. His
hands fell from her shoulders to his sides, he half-turned away, brusque
now in tone and manner. "I grow maudlin. Your sweet pity has so softened
me that I had almost spoke of love; and what have I to do with that?
Love belongs to life; love is life; whilst I... Moriturus te salutat!"

"Ah, no, no!" She was clinging to him again with shaking hands, her eyes
wild.

"It is too late," he answered her. "There is no bridge can span the pit
I have dug myself. I must go down into it as cheerfully as God will let
me."

"Then," she cried in sudden exaltation, "I will go down with you. At the
last, at least, we shall be together."

"Now here is midsummer frenzy!" he protested, yet there was a tenderness
in the very impatience of his accents. He stroked the golden head that
lay against his shoulder. "How shall that help me?" he asked her. "Would
you embitter my last hour--rob death of all its glory? Nay, Rosamund,
you can serve me better far by living. Return to England, and publish
there th