Out of sheer generosity, though her brain and heart cried assent to his every word, she tried to protest. But the youth in her heart clamoured that he was speaking truth. "And so," he concluded, "now that I am sure that you truly love each other, I mean to step aside." She looked at him blankly. "Step aside?" she repeated. "I mean to make what reparation is possible: I must." Muriel's face quivered. "So that I--that we----" she started. "So that you and von Klausen may marry." "But we can't anyhow! Oh--that's the horror of it! That's why the thing can never be mended. In his religion there is no divorce. Marriage is a sacrament. Final. It lasts until one or the other dies." Stainton frowned. It was a slight frown, rather of annoyance than of pain. "Yes," he said. "I gave all my earlier life for my superstition, and now----" "You see," she was running on, "in his faith, a marriage----" "Yes, yes," he interrupted. "I know. They are flat-footed on that. I am only wondering----" His speech dropped from the vocabulary of emotion to the trivial phrases of the colloquial. "Look there!" he broke off. Her eyes followed his pointing finger: in a little gap through the tree-tops they could see the path below, and up the path a figure was bounding: fevered, lithe, young. Muriel clutched the parapet. "It's Franz!" she said. "Yes, it's Franz," said Jim. "Just as I began talking to you, I thought I saw a motor scorching down the road toward the Hotellerie. He must have left the car there and come right on." "I know it is he. It is." She turned to her husband. "And, O, Jim, what shall I do?" "See him, of course." "Why? Why should we fight it all over again? There's no way out: we'll just have to go on forever. There's nothing to do. Why should I fight it all over again? I'm tired--I'm so tired!" Stainton looked at her long and earnestly. He did not speak, did not take her hand. He did nothing, he believed, that she could afterward translate into a good-bye. "Nonsense!" he said, shortly. "You see him and try to bring him around to looking at marriage as the mere contract that the law has made it." "There is no chance. The other view is part of his life--you've said so yourself." Stainton smiled. "Anyhow," he said, "there's no harm in trying. See him and make one more appeal. I'll cut around here and have a try at climbing to the top of the cliff. There's a path by the back way. The hotel proprietor spoke enough English to tell me there was a small chapel on the top of this cliff over our heads, and a wonderful view, from Toulon to Marseilles--Try it, Muriel--for my sake. I want to pay up. I don't pretend to be happy, but I want to pay up. So long! Good luck. And never say die!" He rattled out his careless words so swiftly that she could not answer. He scarcely reached their end before he raised his hat and darted down the steps.