There was no possible disbelieving her; the absolute truthfulness of that utterance was evidenced by trembling lips, by the upturned face. Winston drew a deep breath of relief, his contracted brows straightening. For one hesitating moment he remained speechless, struggling for self-control. Merciful Heavens! would he ever understand this woman? Would he ever fathom her full nature? ever rend the false from the true? The deepening, baffling mystery served merely to stimulate ambition, to strengthen his unwavering purpose. He possessed the instinct that assured him she cared; it was for his sake that she had braved the night and Farnham's displeasure. What, then, was it that was holding them apart? What was the nature of this barrier beyond all surmounting? The man in him rebelled at having so spectral an adversary; he longed to fight it out in the open, to grapple with flesh and blood. In spite of promise, his heart found words of protest. "Beth, please tell me what all this means," he pleaded simply, his hands outstretched toward her. "Tell me, because I love you; tell me, because I desire to help you. It is true we have not known each other long; yet, surely, the time and opportunity have been sufficient for each to learn much regarding the character of the other. You trust me, you believe in my word; down in the secret depths of your heart you are beginning to love me. I believe that, little girl; I believe that, even while your lips deny its truth. It is the instinct of love which teaches me, for I love you. I may not know your name, the story of your life, who or what you are, but I love you, Beth Norvell, with the life-love of a man. What is it, then, between us? What is it? God help me! I could battle against realities, but not against ghosts. Do you suppose I cannot forgive, cannot excuse, cannot blot out a past mistake? Do you imagine my love so poor a thing as that? Do not wrong me so. I am a man of the world, and comprehend fully those temptations which come to all of us. I can let the dead past bury its dead, satisfied with the present and the future. Only tell me the truth, the naked truth, and let me combat in the open against whatever it is that stands between us. Beth, Beth, this is life or death to me!" She stood staring at him, her face gone haggard, her eyes full of misery. Suddenly she sank upon her knees beside a chair, and, with a moan, buried her countenance within her hands. "Beth," he asked, daring to touch her trembling hair, "have I hurt you? Have I done wrong to speak thus?" A single sob shook the slender, bowed figure, the face still hidden. "Yes," she whispered faintly, "you have hurt me; you have done wrong." "But why?" he insisted. "Is not my love worthy?" She lifted her head then, resting one hand against the dishevelled hair, her eyes misty from tears. "Worthy? O God, yes! but so useless; so utterly without power."