“A life that changed history,” he answered her. “There have been many theorists, but none save Christ who proved his philosophy perfect in his own person.” Joan was silent again for a while. The shadows of thought had deepened in her eyes till they looked like two pools of gloom. “I have been thinking of that parable,” she said. “Which parable?” he asked her. “That which tells of the pearl of great price—where the man sold all that he had in order to possess it.” “Yes.” “There is profound truth to me in the words. Cannot a man take his inspiration from such a parable—sell all, dare all, to gain that single pearl. Is the present so pleasant to him that he is afraid to fling himself giant-like against custom.” Gabriel looked at her as a man might look at one who prophesies. There was a sudden kindling of courage upon his face, but again a cloud soon covered it. “No,” he said, slowly, “such a thing cannot be.” “Tell me why.” “Because the world is too strong for us; because it is impious to risk a woman’s honor; because the bonds of society are too rigid.” “And who forged these bonds of society?” “Man.” “Then cannot man break them also?” “It demands too great a sacrifice of others; it outrages too grossly the hereditary instincts of the race.” “Cannot a man free himself then from false ties?” “Not always.” “Because—” “They are often of his own forging.” “Yet he can break them.” “And his word also?” “Is it not better to break one’s word than to make life one long lie?” “It would be a sin against society.” “Perhaps you are right,” she said; “but I would rather be an outcast than a hypocrite.” Simple and reflective as her words were, they stung the man like the thongs of a scourge. “Joan!” His voice startled her; she turned and looked in his face, read pain there and a tumult of thought. “What have I said?” she asked him. “You despise me!” “Gabriel!” She understood him with a sudden flash of sympathy. “Ah! forgive me.” Her fingers touched his and closed upon them with a quick, appealing pressure. Her face was turned to his with the rich innocence of truth. “No,” he said, breathing fast; “do not touch me. Ah, God, do you not understand?” She withdrew her hand, and her face grew pale again, her eyes shadowy even as with tears. “Forgive me,” she said, slowly, as though speaking to her own soul. “I had hurt your heart and—” “It is nothing,” he said to her. “It is everything—to me,” she answered, sadly. “Before God—remember that I honor you.” She looked up at him suddenly with a great light in her eyes. “Gabriel, I will not hurt your heart again. You are a good man, and may God bless you! I will remember our vow.”