“It is a mad story,” said Katherine. “Almost fantastic. What object had he? Was he a fiend, or a coward, or what?” “Both,” said Raine. “With a soft sentimental heart. A fiend that is half a fool is ever the blackest of fiends. He is irresponsible for his own hell.” “Are all men like that who make life a hell for women?” “In a way. Men are blind to the consequences of their own actions. Apply the truism specially. Or else they see only their own paths before them. Sometimes men seem 'a little brood.' I often wonder how women can love them.” “Do you? Would you include yourself?” “Yes. I suppose so.” “Do you think you could ever be cruel to a woman?” “I could never lie to her, if you mean that. The woman who loves me will find me straight, however much of an inferior brute I might be otherwise.” “Don't,” said Katherine. “You frighten me--the suggestion--” “But you asked me whether I could be cruel.” “A woman's thoughts and speech are never so intense as a man's. You throw a lurid light on my words and I shrink from them. Forgive me. I know that you could be nothing but what was good and true-hearted.” Raine looked at her. Her face was delicate in its strength, very pure in its sadness. The dim light by which it was visible suggested infinite things beyond that could be revealed in a greater brightness. He felt wonderfully drawn to her. “Men have been cruel to you. That is why you ask.” “Ah no!” she said, turning away her head quickly. “I will never call men cruel. I have suffered. Who has not? The greatest suffering--it is the greatest suffering in life--that which comes between man and woman.” “It is true,” replied Raine musingly. “As it can be the greatest joy. Once I could not bear to think of it, for the pain. It is strange--” “What is strange?” asked Katherine in a low voice. He was scarcely conscious how he had come to strike the chord of his own life. It seemed natural at the moment. “It is strange how like a dream it all appears now; as if another than I--a bosom friend, whose secrets I shared--had gone through it.” She put her hand lightly on his arm, and he felt the touch to his heart. “Would you care for me to tell you? I should like to. It would seem a way of laying a ghost peacefully and reverently. It has never passed out of me yet--not even to my father.” “Tell me,” murmured Katherine. “Both are dead--twelve years ago.” “Both?”