red
conscience by an outcry of "Devil!--devil!" Is there not a touch of
pathos in the vanity of the situation? For the cry is in part sincere;
no man can be so wholly evil, while in this world, as quite to divorce
the better angel from his soul. But alas! for the poor righteous
indignation.

XXVII.

PEACE AND GOOD-WILL.

Balder Helwyse, dumfounded before the revelation of the clock, might
have stared himself into imbecility, had not he heard his name spoken
in sweet human music, and, turning, beheld Gnulemah peeping through
the doorway down the hall.

There was no great distance between them, yet she seemed immeasurable
spaces away. Against the bright background of the conservatory her
form stood dark, the outlines softened by semi-transparent edges of
drapery. But the dull red lamplight lit duskily up the folds of her
robe, her golden ornaments, and the black tarns, her eyes. She
appeared to waver between the light of heaven and the lurid gloom of
heaven's opposite.

Balder came hastily towards her, waving her back. He was
superstitiously anxious that she should return unshadowed to the clear
outer sunshine, instead of joining him in this tomb of dead bones and
darkness. Darkness might indeed befriend his own imperfections; but
should Gnulemah be dimmed to soothe his vanity?

Such emblematic fancies are common to lovers, whose ideal passion
tends always to symbolism. But to those who have never loved, it will
be enough to say that the young man felt an instinctive desire to
spare Gnulemah the ugly spectacle in the clock, and was perhaps not
unwilling to escape from it himself!

She awaited him, in the bright doorway, like an angel come to lead him
to a better world. "Do not leave me any more!" she said, putting her
hand in his. "You did not do the thing you thought. Let us be
together, and dream no more such sadness!"

"Is her innocence strong enough to protect her against that sinful
deluge of confession I poured out upon her?" thought Helwyse, glancing
at her face. "Has it fallen from her harmless, like water from a
bird's breast? And am I after all no murderer?"

Doubt nor accusation was in her eyes, but soft feminine faith. Her
eyes,--rather than have lost the deep intelligence of their dark
light, Balder would have consented to blotting from heaven its host of
stars! Through them shone on him,--not justice, but the divine
injustice of woman's love. That wondrous bond, more subtile than
light,