made up his mind that the confession had a purpose
behind it other than repentance, and he deeply resented the use to which
he thought he was being put--a kind of spy upon the beautiful woman
whom Jansen loved, and who, in spite of any outward flippancy, was above
reproach.

In vital things the instinct becomes abnormally acute, and, one day,
when the priest looked at her commiseratingly, she had divined what
moved him. However it was, she drove him into a corner with a question
to which he dare not answer yes, but to which he might not answer no,
and did not; and she realised that he knew the truth, and she was the
better for his knowing, though her secret was no longer a secret. She
was not aware that Finden also knew. Then Varley came, bringing a new
joy and interest in her life, and a new suffering also, for she realised
that if she were free, and Varley asked her to marry him, she would
consent.

But when he did ask her, she said no with a pang that cut her heart in
two. He had stayed his four months, and it was now six months, and he
was going at last-tomorrow. He had stayed to give her time to learn to
say yes, and to take her back with him to London; and she knew that he
would speak again to-day, and that she must say no again; but she had
kept him from saying the words till now. And the man who had ruined her
life and had poisoned her true spirit was come back broken and battered.
He was hanging between life and death; and now--for he was going
to-morrow--Varley would speak again.

The half-hour she had just spent in the hospital with Meydon had tried
her cruelly. She had left the building in a vortex of conflicting
emotions, with the call of duty and of honour ringing through a thousand
other voices of temptation and desire, the inner pleadings for a little
happiness while yet she was young. After she married Meydon, there had
only been a few short weeks of joy before her black disillusion came,
and she had realised how bitter must be her martyrdom.

When she left the hospital, she seemed moving in a dream, as one,
intoxicated by some elixir, might move unheeding among event and
accident and vexing life and roaring multitudes. And all the while the
river flowing through the endless prairies, high-banked, ennobled by
living woods, lipped with green, kept surging in her ears, inviting her,
alluring her--alluring her with a force too deep and powerful for weak
human nature to bear for long. It would ease her