h another's," he said desperately. "Who
knows--when you are one with me, you may be haunted as I am. That would
be too horrible."

It was a flash of real and heartfelt unselfishness. Lily felt herself
thrill with gratitude. But she only said:

"I am not afraid."

On another occasion--this was about a month after they became
engaged--Maurice said:

"Lily, when shall we be married?"

She glanced up at him, and saw that he was paler even than usual, and
that his face looked drawn with fatigue.

"Whenever you wish," she answered.

"Let it be soon," he said. And then he broke out almost despairingly:

"I cannot bear this much longer. Lily, what can it mean? There is
something too strange. Ever since you and I have been betrothed the
curse that is laid upon me has been heavier, the cry of the child has
been more incessantly with me. I hear it more plainly. It is nearer to
me. It is close to me. In the night sometimes I start up thinking the
child is even beside me on the pillow, complaining to me in the
darkness. I stretch out my hand. I feel for its little body. But there
is nothing--nothing but that cry of fear, of pain, of eternal reproach.
Why does the spirit persecute me now as it never persecuted me before?
Is it because it believes that you will make me happier? Is it because
it wishes to deny me all earthly joy? Sometimes I think that, once we
are actually husband and wife the cry will die away. Sometimes I think
that then it will never leave me even for a moment. If that were so,
Lily, I should die, or I should lose my reason."

He covered his face with his hands. He was trembling. Lily put her soft
hand against his hands. A great light had come into her eyes as he
spoke.

"Let us be married, Maurice," she said. "Perhaps the little child wants
me."

He looked up at her and his dark eyes seemed to pierce her, hungry for
help.

"Wants you?" he said. "How can that be? No, no. It cries against my
thought of happiness, against my desire for peace."

"We must give it peace. We must lay it to rest."

"No one can do that. If I have not the power to redeem my deed of
wickedness, how can you, how can any one living redeem it for me?"

Lily looked away from him. Her cheeks were burning with a blush. A
tingling fire seemed to run through all her veins and her pulses beat.

"There is some way of redemption for every one," she said.

But he answered gloomily:

"Your religion teaches you to say that, Lily, p