ords died in his throat as he gazed upon her white and stricken face.
"Honey, be merciful to me in your thoughts!" he cried, instead, kissing
her forehead, her eyes, and denying himself her lips.

"Just let me go right away. Give me courage--help me!"

"And what of me?"

"I leave you the gift of my heart. I can never take it back."

"Do you forgive me?"

"Love always forgives."

"God bless you! I think I must have been insane. I would have earned
your hatred in time. How shall I face life without you?"

Honor gave him her lips sadly. "In our different ways--we shall face it.
Just at first it will be very hard, but not impossible if we have
courage to do what is right. To stay on here after this, is more than I
can bear; so I must go away--just for a bit, to learn how to be brave.
When I come back--if you are still here, we might both bear it better."

"My poor Honey! What a beast I have been! As for me--you will find me
here right enough. I shall not go to Australia _now_!--but I shall never
bear it better."

They parted a little later in heavy sorrow. Honor left him bowed and
broken on the garden bench, and stumbled home unseeingly.

Afterwards, she learned in one of Dalton's letters--for he would not be
denied that medium of communion with her--the full story of his past
humiliation.

He had married a nurse at Guy's when he had been a medical student, and
she had left him six months later for his best friend. She had been
proved as faithless as she was handsome, with a baleful influence over
men. Not long afterwards, the man she had led astray was killed in a
railway accident, and since then, she had, on various occasions, tried,
without success, to persuade Dalton to take her back. Apparently, she
had not resigned hope with the years, for she had followed him to India,
believing that time was her greatest ally, since it dims the memory of
wrongs.

When he had discovered her presence in Calcutta, and learned that she
had joined a nursing home in a fashionable quarter, he had applied for a
transfer to quiet Muktiarbad, giving as his reason, his need of rest
from his too strenuous labours in the capital. His desire was to gain
time and to keep out of the way of any possibility of coming into
professional contact with his wife.

At Muktiarbad he was able to forget his troubles, and, to his relief,
seemed to have been forgotten by the Government and left to enjoy his
peace undisturbed. However, through her