She tore herself from his arms and stood before him, her hands outstretched against him. Her great black eyes were wide, and deep, and unfathomable. Only from their depths, a glow of longing love shone forth; of longing, sorrowing love, of sorrow for herself and of love for the man before her; yet love controlled by a will as strong as the strength of right could make it. There was an answering light in the eyes that met her own. In them was pain and pleading, but no doubt. His hands reached out to hers that had put him away, but they dropped before they touched. "Helen, your eyes have answered me." There was a deep throb of exultation in his voice. "But let me hear you speak." She stood with pale face and laboring breath. Her voice shook with the intensity of her emotion. "I love you, Ralph. More than I can tell you in a lifetime, I love you." She spoke in obedience to a power beyond her will to control. Winston sprang toward her, but her hand rested on his breast. She could feel the strong, even throb of his heart and this strengthened her will to resist. "Listen, Ralph!" Her voice was intense but low; every word pierced like pencils of light in deep waters. "I have been cruel, mercilessly, selfishly cruel. I longed to hear you say what you have said. All my life I shall remember it as a penance for the wrong I have done you." "I will not listen to such words." He clasped the hand that rested on his breast, but she tore it away. "Don't tempt me further, Ralph." He was again close beside her. "Tell me all, Helen. You have given me the right to know." "I have not, I cannot. If I should tell you, you would despise me. If I granted your wish, all my life I should loathe myself." Ralph stood with eyes undoubting, unconvinced, but he could go no farther. "Is it forever, Helen, hopelessly forever?" "Don't ask me, Ralph, but forgive me." Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "I am afraid it is. Will you, can you forgive me?" Winston's lips set. There was a determination in his eyes that was yet softened by a great love. "I have nothing to forgive. I love you and I shall always love you. Nothing you have said or can say will change it or weaken it. You do not see clearly now. Some time you will. Then I shall claim you and you will come to me." Helen could trust herself no further, nor could she still the throb of hope his words had kindled. Was she mistaken after all? Was her sin as she saw it, but a gigantic empty shadow resting on a vanishing cloud which the clear light of reason would melt away? There had been conviction in his words, "Sometime you will see clearly, then you will come to me."