"Perhaps it evens up in the long end," answered Guida, turning away from him to the fire, and feeling her heart beat faster as she saw how the child nestled in Ranulph's arms--her child which had no father. "You see," she added, "if some are punished who oughtn't to be, there are others who ought to be that aren't, and the worst of it is, we care so little for real justice that we often wouldn't punish if we could. I have come to feel that. Sometimes if you do exactly what's right, you hurt some one you don't wish to hurt, and if you don't do exactly what's right, perhaps that some one else hurts you. So, often, we would rather be hurt than hurt." With the last words she turned from the fire and involuntarily faced him. Their eyes met. In hers were only the pity of life, the sadness, the cruelty of misfortune, and friendliness for him. In his eyes was purpose definite, strong. He went over and put the child in its high chair. Then coming a little nearer to Guida, he said: "There's only one thing in life that really hurts--playing false." Her heart suddenly stopped beating. What was Ranulph going to say? After all these years was he going to speak of Philip? But she did not reply according to her thought. "Have people played false in your life--ever?" she asked. "If you'll listen to me I'll tell you how," he answered. "Wait, wait," she said in trepidation. "It--it has nothing to do with me?" He shook his head. "It has only to do with my father and myself. When I've told you, then you must say whether you will have anything to do with it, or with me.... You remember," he continued, without waiting for her to speak, "you remember that day upon the Ecrehos--five years ago? Well, that day I had made up my mind to tell you in so many words what I hoped you had always known, Guida. I didn't--why? Not because of another man--no, no, I don't mean to hurt you, but I must tell you the truth now--not because of another man, for I should have bided my chance with him." "Ranulph, Ranulph," she broke in, "you must not speak of this now! Do you not see it hurts me? It is not like you. It is not right of you--" A sudden emotion seized him, and his voice shook. "Not right! You should know that I'd never say one word to hurt you, or do one thing to wrong you. But I must speak to-day-I must tell you everything. I've thought of it for four long years, and I know now that what I mean to do is right." She sat down in the great arm-chair. A sudden weakness came upon her: she was being brought face to face with days of which she had never allowed herself to think, for she lived always in the future now. "Go on," she said helplessly. "What have you to say, Ranulph?" "I will tell you why I didn't speak of my love to you that day we went to the Ecrehos. My father came back that day." "Yes, yes," she said; "of course you had to think of him."