Marrion laid the paper by, and summoning all his powers of self-control:
"I spoke of his reformation just now," he began, as if reading her thoughts. "Answer me one question; if he never reforms, have you ever thought of changing your life?"
"You mean separation; the world or a convent?" she began, gently, growing calmer as she went on, "I had thought of that, I must out with the truth. I went away once, but a good friend advised me to go back. She told me living for others was a long way towards being happy." Looking on the floor she got out the remainder of her sentence, "and now I intend to stay."
As she spoke the words to Marrion there came upon her a terrible sense of emptiness and desolation. Obeying a sudden impulse, she arose to leave.
"I shall go to my room now; I must think awhile alone. I am glad its such a sad sort of a day; if it were bright I couldn't stand it."
Marrion followed her to the door, raised her hands to his lips, and suddenly breaking away as if unworthy to pay such homage cried:
"I could kneel to you, true, grand woman. Your resolution is full of the gravest, tenderest meaning. You think of him only; his reputation is dearer to
