“No, no,” she cried impatiently. “I would not live for an hour after he knew. I know what he would do. He has told me. He would leave me--at once, and for ever. I should never see his face again. I should be dead to him, by a worse death than the grave; for he would only think of me to shudder at my name. Oh, Father Rodwell, Christianity must be a cruel creed if it can demand such a sacrifice from me. What good can come of his knowing the truth? Only agony to him and shame and despair to me. Can that be good?” “Truth is life, and falsehood is death,” answered the priest, firmly. “You must choose your own course, Mrs. Disney; but there is one argument I may urge as a man of the world rather than as a priest. Nothing is ever hidden for very long in this life. There is no secret so closely kept that some one has not an inkling of it. Better your husband should hear the truth from you, in humble self-accusation, than that he should learn it later--perhaps after he has mourned you for years--from a stranger’s lips.” “Oh, that would be horrible--too horrible. But I will confess to him; I will tell him everything--on my deathbed. Yes, when life is ebbing, when the end is close, I will tell him. He shall know what a false and perjured creature I am. I swore to him--swore before God that I was true and faithful--that I loved him and no other. And it was true, absolute truth, when I took that oath. My sin was a thing of the past. I had loved another, and I had let my love lead me into sin. And then my husband asked me if I had been true and pure always; always. ‘Is that true, Isola? I call upon God to hear your answer,’ he said. And I answered yes, it was true. I lied before God rather than lose my husband’s love; and God heard me, and the blight of His anger has been upon me ever since, withering and consuming me.” They went down the steep pathway, Father Rodwell first, Isola following, between the crowded graves, the azaleas and camelias, veronica and guelder rose, lilac and magnolia, and on either hand a wilderness of roses, red and white. The shadows of the cypresses closed over them in that deep alley, and the twilight gloom might seem symbolic of the passage through death to life; for beyond the gates, and through a gap in the cypress screen, the level landscape and the city domes and bell-towers were shining in the yellow light of afternoon. CHAPTER XXIV. “OH, OLD THOUGHTS THEY CLING, THEY CLING!”