"There was a man whom you loved, a man you called husband--ah, don't shudder; don't weep like that, or you'll break my heart, child! Because you loved him he holds a better place in my thoughts than he could ever otherwise have done; because you loved him I must bear him kindly in my remembrance." "Oh, if I might atone, if I might atone!" she whispered, and hid her face again. The captain did not understand; he went on in the same gentle tones: "There comes a time for every man and every woman when all blame and all praise are as nothing to them, and pass them over; when their little lives fade out and are judged by the standard of something we do not understand; a time when they pass beyond our censure and we can afford to think lightly of their mistakes. 'Linda, do you understand?" She looked up at him; her brows wrinkled a little as she watched his face, but she did not speak. "He left you without thinking what might happen, careless of what sorrow the world held for you. But you can afford to forgive that now; in time you may even learn to forget it. Your prayers or your tears can not reach him any more." "I understand," she whispered. "You mean that he--he is dead?" "Yes. He is dead. He died quite suddenly and painlessly." She was silent for a long time; he had expected that she would cry out--had fully anticipated a painful scene; but this apathy was more disconcerting than anything could have been. After a time, without looking up at him, she asked softly: "And Comethup? What of Comethup?" "He is well, I believe," said the captain, trying to hide his astonishment. "I have not heard from him for some time." The worthy gentleman was at a loss to understand the strangeness of her demeanour; he cast about in his mind for a clew to guide him, but could find none. "You know that he has left his home--that he has been cast out into the world?" she asked. The captain forgot everything in his new astonishment. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I had heard nothing about this. I don't understand." "Not now--not now," she whispered. "Some other time you will know all about it and will judge me as you should. Leave me alone now; I want to think. Kiss me"--she turned up her face to his--"and don't think hardly of me, dear old friend, if you can help it." He kissed her and softly patted her cheek, lingered a moment, and then, as he saw her lying with closed eyes, stole out of the room, shutting the door behind him. With scarcely a word to Medmer Theed he went out of the shop and into the street, and walked back to his own place. There, pacing up and down the little parlour, he turned over many things in his mind, and wondered again and again in a vague fashion what he should do; above all things, what he should do in regard to 'Linda.