Oona was penetrated by all these words to the depths of her heart. What girl could be told that in her hands was the saving of one she loved, without such a movement of the soul to the highest heroism and devotion as raises human nature above itself? Her soul seemed to soar, drawing his with it, into heights above. She felt capable of everything--of the highest effort and the humblest service. That union of the spiritual being above his, and the human longing beneath, came back to her in all the joy of a permitted and befitting mood. She was his to raise him above all those soils of life of which he was sick and weary; and his to sweep away the thorns and briars out of his path; to lead him and to serve him, to mingle her being in his life so that no one henceforward should think of Oona save as his second and helpmeet: yet so to guide his uncertain way as that it should henceforward follow the track of light by which the best of all ages has gone. Even to understand that office of glory and humility demands an enlightenment, such as those who do not love can never attain. To Oona it seemed that life itself became glorious in this service. It raised her above all earthly things. She looked at him with the pity of an angel, with something of the tenderness of a mother, with an identification and willingness to submit which was pure woman. All was justified to her--the love that she had given unsought, the service which she was willing and ready to give. He stopped before they had reached the height upon which stood home and the sweet and simple existence which embraced these mysteries without comprehending them. A darker shadow, a premonition of evil, came over him. "And yet," he said, "I have not told you all. I have something more still to say." CHAPTER X. What did there remain to say? He had made his confession, which, after all, was no confession, and she had stopped his mouth with pardon. His cry for new life had overcome every reluctance in her. Her delicate reserve, the instinct that restrained her, had no more power after that. She had stood no longer behind any barrier--at that touch she had thrown her heart wide open and taken him within. "What more?" she said. "There can be no more." "Much more: and you were to hear all: not only the wretched folly into which I fled, to try if I could forget, but something meaner, nearer----something for which you will despise me. Oh, do not smile; it is past smiling for you and me--for you as well as me now, Oona. God forgive me that have tangled your life in mine!" "What is it?" she said, giving him an open look of trust and confidence. "I am not afraid."