“It was when I was at college; I needed money; and--poor, desperate, wicked, silly young man--I forged Professor Wilson’s name. I don’t know what I supposed would become of me when it was found out. And I don’t know what would have become of me, but Henry Wilson died before the month was out, and so, by some strange chance, it never was discovered. If it had been--well, you and I would not have been here to-day. Human justice would have interposed before Divine mercy”--He looked up with a solemn elation which seemed to put self out of his mind. “I might have gone lower and lower! Who can say? It was an easy thing to do, for I was his secretary, and he trusted me. That, of course, was the most horrible part of what I did, the part that now seems to me incomprehensible--the broken trust! Well, of course, I made reparation, as I called it, out of the money he left me. I gave away many times the amount I stole; but it was only because I was scared at the risk I had run, and the thought of it harassed me. It was a sort of expedient morality, you know; a sort of bargain with my conscience for peace of mind. Then, about a year afterwards, I met X----. I heard him preach, and life changed. How extraordinary it seems to look back upon it now! Then I repented. Before, I had only reformed. That was when I entered the divinity school. But just think, Amy, just think of the difference! How life might have gone--yet here I am to-day, your lover, your husband. Oh, the mercy of God!” He was deeply moved. He got up and walked the length of the room. Amy sat silently looking down at her hands in her lap. When he came back, his eyes were full of peace. “That is all, dearest; now we will forget it. You know my life as you do your own.” “Forget it?” she repeated, with a sudden, sobbing laugh, that tore at the man’s heart. “Amy! dearest! have I shocked you so? Remember, it was twenty-three years ago; I was only a boy. Let me tell you how it was: I was madly in love with a woman; at least, it was not love, but I thought it was; she fascinated me, and”-- “Oh, go on--go on!” she interrupted, hoarsely; “as if I cared about that!” He tried to take her hand, but she made a pretense of arranging the flowers in her belt; her head was turned a little from him. He leaned forward, with a grave authority to command her attention, took the pansies from her, and held them in his hand. “I was possessed to marry her. Of course, she would not look at me--a penniless, charity student. But I strained every nerve to win her. It was the old story. She took my flowers, or theatre tickets, or anything I could give her. Curious, the mercenariness of the woman did not revolt me! But I was mad about her. I thought, at last, that if I had money I could give her some jewels she wanted, and perhaps she would accept me. That was how it came about. She took the diamonds, and eloped with a married man two days afterwards.”