That little villa on the Cap Martin--the steep pathway to it--and Richard mounting it, with that pale look, those tattered, sea-stained leaves in his hand--and the tragedy that had to be told, in his eyes, and on his lips. Could any other human being have upheld her as he did through that first year--through the years after? Was it not to him that she owed everything that had been recovered from the wreck; the independence and freedom of her daily life; protection from her hard brother-in-law, and from her sister's reproaches; occupation--hope--the gradual healing of intolerable wounds--the gradual awakening of a spiritual being? Thus--after passion--she had known friendship; its tenderness, its disinterested affection and care. _Tenderness?_ Her hand dashed away some more impetuous tears, then locked itself in the other, the tension of the muscles answering to the inward effort for self-control. Thank God, she had never asked him for more; had often seemed indeed to ask him for much less; had made herself irresponsive, difficult, remote. At least she had never lost her dignity in his eyes--(ah! in whose eyes but his had she ever possessed it?)--she had never forfeited--never risked even--her sacred place in his life, as the soul he had helped through dark places, true servant as he was of the Master of Pity. The alarms of the week died away, as this emotion gained upon her. She bethought her of certain central and critical years, when, after long dependence on him as comrade and friend, suddenly, she knew not how, her own pulse had quickened, and the sharpest struggle of her life had come upon her. It was the crisis of the mature woman, as compared with that of the innocent and ignorant girl; and in the silent mastering of it she seemed to have parted with her youth. But she had never parted with self-control and self-respect. She had never persuaded herself that the false was true. She had kept her counsel, and her sanity, and the wage of it had not been denied her. She had emerged more worthy of his friendship, more capable of rewarding it. Yes, but with a clear and sad perception of the necessities laid upon her--of the sacrifices involved. He believed her--she knew it--indifferent to the great cause of religious change and reform which he had at heart. In these matters, indeed, she had quietly, unwaveringly held aloof. There are efforts and endurances that can only be maintained--up to a point. Beyond that point resistance breaks. The life that is fighting emotion must not run too many risks of emotion. At the root of half the religious movements of the world lies the appeal of the preacher and the prophet--to women. Because women are the creatures and channels of feeling; and feeling is to religion as air to life.