orever was the moment when she knew best how truly, how
passionately he had loved her.

His lips trembled as he stood looking at her in silence, and the slow,
burning tears dropped heavily, one by one, down his cheeks. The natural
human remembrance of the golden days of their companionship, of the
nights and nights when that dear head--turned away from him now in
unutterable misery and shame--had nestled itself so fondly and so
happily on his breast, fought hard to silence his conscience, to root
out his dreadful sense of guilt, to tear the words of Judgment from
their ruthless hold on his mind, to claim him in the sweet names of Pity
and of Love. If she had turned and looked at him at that moment,
their next words would have been spoken in each other's arms. But the
oppression of her despair under his silence was too heavy for her, and
she never moved.

He forced himself to look away from her; he struggled hard to break the
silence between them.

"God forgive you, Emily!" he said.

As her name passed his lips, his voice failed him, and the torture at
his heart burst its way out in sobs. He hurried to the door to spare
her the terrible reproof of the grief that had now mastered him. When he
passed her she turned toward him with a faint cry.

He caught her as she sank forward, and saved her from dropping on the
floor. For the last time his arms closed round her. For the last time
his lips touched hers--cold and insensible to him now. He laid her on
the sofa and went out.

One of the female servants was crossing the hall. The girl started as
she met him, and turned pale at the sight of his face. He could not
speak to her, but he pointed to the study door. He saw her go into the
room, and then left the house.

He never entered it more, and he and his wife never met again.

Later on that last day, a sister of Mr. Carling's--a married woman
living in the town--came to the rectory. She brought an open note with
her, addressed to the unhappy mistress of the house. It contained these
few lines, blotted and stained with tears:

May God grant us both the time for repentance! If I had loved you less,
I might have trusted myself to see you again. Forgive me, and pity
me, and remember me in your prayers, as I shall forgive, and pity, and
remember you.

He had tried to write more, but the pen had dropped from his hand. His
sister's entreaties had not moved him. After giving her the note to
deliver, he had solemnly ch