In the abstract, the memory of the three years she had spent with Morris Kenyon formed no burden upon her conscience. Versed in the secrets of her own heart--strong in the certain knowledge of the generous, even if misguided, motives that had prevailed with her--she had been absolved at the bar of her most earnest and sincere judgment from all stain of deliberate doing of evil. How was it possible that she should find cause to reproach or condemn herself, remembering that supreme hour of test, when she had held so loyally fast to her innate convictions of what was right and what was not; when she had refused to barter a mockery of love for the reality of continued wealth and protection? She thought, too, of her life since then, chaste amid greater temptations than a man would ever realise. Deep in her heart was the feeling that she had been tried and not found wanting. Surely, then, she was every whit as fitted as any ordinarily spotless woman to marry a good man? Still, so long as the likelihood of such a desire on her part had seemed far remote, she had been firmly convinced that she would never allow herself to become a wife with her secret unconfessed. But now she was faced by a problem--a torturing doubt--that was quite unforeseen. Would it not be morally a greater wickedness, an additional wrong, should she remorselessly shatter such perfect trust; smear and deface the happiness of this man who loved her so ardently, revered and honoured her with such glad confidence? Was it indeed Honour's command that she should dig up this loathsome, long-buried corpse, to thrust it under those very nostrils wherein it would most stink? Was such a cruel and unscrupulous bowing down to the conventional idea of right and wrong unquestionably Love's duty? She had never been much guided by mere convention. Was she to begin now when so much was at stake? Surely not. She started suddenly from her chair in bewilderment and distress, and commenced to pace the room. What ought she to do? Earnestly she tried to put all care for herself and for her own desires out of her mind--to think only of Geoff. Setting great importance upon the emotional side of life, she scarcely heeded any difference of position that might exist between herself and him. Unconscious of his future prospects, believing his marriage to be a matter concerning himself alone, her one doubt and difficulty lay in how best to cope with her hidden past. Reason and common sense bade her guard her secret in silence, now and forever. But her feelings told her plainly enough that never could she hope to know perfect peace until she had confessed this thing--confessed, implored and obtained forgiveness. But would that not be an end of all peace of mind for Geoffrey--ah, poor Geoff! She had learnt his nature so well. His was a love that gloried in placing the beloved upon a lofty height, there to be crowned with stars and worshipped. Could she thrust him out of his paradise?