owers till she tired.

She hesitated, and was on the point of refusing, when he took her by
the upper part of her arm as if to hold her. "Do," he pleaded. "I want
to say something to you."

"I have no time to stay," she answered, shrinking from his touch.

"Yes, yes, time enough for all I have to say," he returned. "I beg you
to come with me to-day, Leam--I beg it; and I do not often ask a favor
of you."

There was something in his manner that seemed to compel Leam to
consent in spite of herself. True, he besought, but also he seemed
almost to command; and if he did not command, then his earnestness was
so strong that she was forced to yield to it. Trembling, but with
her proud little head held straight--wondering what was coming, and
vaguely conscious that whatever it was it would be pain--Leam let
him take her to the garden-seat where the budding lilacs spoke of
springtime freshness and summer beauty. Alick was trembling too, but
from excitement, not from fear. He had made up his mind now, and when
he had once resolved he was not wavering. He would ask her to share
his life, accept his love, and he would thus take on himself half the
burden of her sin. This was how he felt it. If he married her, knowing
all that he knew, he would make himself the partner of her crime,
because he would accept her past like her present--like her future;
and thus he would be equally guilty with her before God. But he would
trust to prayer and the Supreme Mercy to save her and him. He would
carry no merits of devotion as his own claim, but he would have freed
her of half her guilt, and he would be content to bear his own portion
of punishment for this unfathomable gain. It was the man's love, but
also the soul's passionate promise of sacrifice and redemption, that
gave him boldness to plead, power to ask for a grace to which, had
this deep stain of sin never tainted her, he would not have dared to
aspire. But, as it was, his love was her greater safety, and what
he gained in earthly joy he would lose in spiritual peace, while her
partial forgiveness would be bought by the loss of his security of
salvation. Not that she understood all this or ever should, but it
gave him courage.

"When you first saw me, Leam, after my illness you said that you
wanted me to live," he began in a low voice, husky with emotion. "Do
you mean this?"

"Yes," she said, looking straight before her.

"Live for you?" he asked.

"For us all," she answered.