But Dorian must know, he must know the truth before he asked her again to marry him. But if he knew, he would never urge that again. That perhaps would be for the best, anyway. And yet she could not bear the thought of sending him away for good. If he deserted her, who else would she have? No; she must have him near her, at least. Clear thinking was not easy for her just then, but in time she managed to say: "Dorian, sit down.... Do you remember that evening, not so long ago, when you let me 'browse', as you called it, among Uncle Zed's books and manuscripts?" "Yes; you have done that a number of times." "But there is one time which I shall remember. It was the time when I read what Uncle Zed had written about sin and death." "O, I had not intended you to see that." "But I did, and I read carefully every word of it. I understood most of it, too. 'The wages of sin is death'--That applies to me. I am a sinner. I shall die. I have already died, according to Uncle Zed." "No, Carlia, you misapply that. We are all sinners, and we all die in proportion to our sinning. That's true enough; but there is also the blessed privilege of repentance to consider. Let me finish the quotation: 'The wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord'; also let me add what the Lord said about those who truly repent; 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool'. That is a great comfort to all of us, Carlia." "Yes; thank you, Dorian.... but--but now I must tell you. The Lord may forgive me, but you cannot." "Carlia, I have long since forgiven you." "Oh, of my little foolish ways, of course; but, Dorian, you don't know--" "But, Carlia, I do know. And I tell you that I have forgiven you." "The terrible thing about me?" "The unfortunate thing and the great sorrow which has come to you, and the suffering--yes, Carlia, I know." "I can't understand your saying that." "But I understand." "Who told you?" "Mrs. Whitman." "Have you been there?" "Yes." "Dorian!" She stared past him through the open window into the western sky. The upper disk of the sun sank slowly behind the purple mountain. The flaming underlining of a cloud reflected on the open water of the marshland and faintly into the room and on to the pale face of the girl. Presently, she arose, swayed and held out her arms as if she was falling. Dorian caught her. Tears, long pent up, save in her own lonely hours, now broke as a torrent from her eyes, and her body shook in sobs. Gone was her reserve now, her holding him away, her power of resistance. She lay supinely in his arms, and he held her close. O, how good it was to cry thus! O, what a haven of rest! Would the tears and sobs never cease?... The sun was down, the color faded from the sky, a big shadow enveloped the earth.