"It would be just the same to me; but--but.... Oh, boy, dear! it will never, _never_ be the same to you!" "I--I don't understand," he stammered. "Some day you will. You call yourself a crook: man, man! there isn't a crooked drop of blood in you! Don't I know? You persuaded yourself that you had a right to take this money; perhaps you did have; _I_ don't say you didn't. When I see anything I want, I reach out and take it, if I can--and I guess most people would, if they dared. But you are different; you are _good_. Some day all these dreadful things that have come tagging along after the fact will rise up and gnash their teeth at you and tell you that it was a _sin_, a _crime_. And then--oh, boy, dear! then I shall lose you!" Very gently he took her in his arms again; and for a time all things sensible and tangible, the deserted driveway, and the plashing of the little waves on the sands, the staring moonlight and the stencilled shadows of the oaks, were forgotten in the great soul-healing silence that wrapped them about and enveloped them. "Margery," he began, when the interval of thoughtful heart-searching had done its illuminative work, "what would you say if I should tell you that your 'some day' has already come?" She started as if he had thrust a knife into her. Then she slipped out of his arms and caught up his hand to press it against her cheek. "I should say, 'Whatsoever seemeth good in the eyes of my dear lord, so let it be.'" "But think a moment, girl; if one has done wrong, there must be atonement. That is the higher law--the highest law--and no man may evade it. Do you know what that would mean for me?" "It is the Price, boy, dear; I don't ask you to pay it. Listen: my father and I have agreed to disagree, and he has turned over to me a lot of money that he took from--that was once my mother's brother's share in the Colorado gold claims. What is mine is yours. We can pay back the money. Will that do?" He was shaking his head slowly. "No," he said, "I think it wouldn't do." "I was afraid it wouldn't," she sighed, "but I had to try. Are they still gnashing their teeth at you?--the dreadful things, I mean?" He did not answer in words, but she knew, and held her peace. At the end of the ends he sprang up suddenly and drew her to her feet. "I can't do it, Margery, girl! I can't ask you to wait--and afterward to marry a convict! Think of it--even if Galbraith were willing to withdraw, the law wouldn't let him, and I'd get the limit; anything from seven years to fifteen or more. Oh, my God, no! I can't pay the price! I can't give you up!" She put her arms around his neck and drew his head down and kissed him on the lips. "I'll wait ... oh, boy, boy! I'll wait! But I can neither push you over the edge nor hold you back. Only don't think of me; please, _please_ don't think of me!--'Whatsoever seemeth good'--that is what you must think of; that is my last word: 'Whatsoever seemeth good.'" And she pushed him from her and fled.