"Gillian!" he raised his head sharply, staring at her with desperate unbelieving eyes, "You care?"

"Care?" she gave a tremulous little sobbing laugh. "How could I help but care! I've loved you since the day you came to me in the convent parlour. You're all I have, and if you leave me now"--she clung to him suddenly--"Barry, Barry, I can't bear any more. I haven't any strength or courage left. I'm afraid! I can't face the world alone--it's cruel--pitiless. I love you, I want you, I can't live without you," and with a piteous sob she strained him to her, hiding her face against his breast, beseeching and distraught. His lips were trembling as he gathered the shuddering little body closely in his arms, but still he hesitated.

"Think, dear, think," he muttered hoarsely, "I'm not fit to stay with you. I've done that which is unforgivable."

"I'm your wife, I've the right to share your burden," she cried passionately. "You didn't know, you couldn't know when you did that dreadful thing. And if God punishes you let Him punish me too. But God is love, He knows how you have suffered, and for those who repent His punishment is forgiveness."

"But can you forgive--can you bear to come to me?" he faltered, still only half believing.

"I love you," she said simply, "and life without you is death," and lifting her face to his she gave him the lips he had not dared to take.



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