'Is she to be told that?' cried Martin Gurwood. 'If whoever breaks the news to her talks to her after that fashion, he will be right if he is alluding to the divine mercy, but can he say the same to the world? Will not the world condemn her, point at her the finger of scorn, bid her not darken its respectable doors? Will not women priding themselves on their goodness and their charity take delight in hunting her down, and withdrawing themselves from the contamination of her presence? Will she not henceforth, and for the rest of her life, lie under a ban, be kept apart, sent to Coventry, have to perform social quarantine, and to keep the Yellow Flag flying to warn all who approach her of the danger they run?' Humphrey Statham looked at his companion with surprise. He had never seen him so animated before. 'You are right,' he said. 'Heaven help her! it is the penalty which she will have to pay for this man's sin, in which no one will believe that she did not participate. There are thousands who will be ready to speak pityingly of him, while their hearts will be closed against her. Such is the justice of the world.' 'It must be our task, provided all that you imagine turns out to be true,' said Martin, 'to endeavour to alleviate her position as much as possible.' 'As a relative of the dead man who has worked this wrong, and as a clergyman, your influence and example can do her more good than those of any other person. Except, perhaps, Mrs. Calverley,' added Statham, after a pause, 'who, I hope, for more reasons than one, will never know anything of Mrs.--Mrs. Claxton's existence.' 'All that I can do, I will do most earnestly,' said Martin. 'You must do something more, Martin Gurwood,' said Humphrey; 'you must go to Hendon to-morrow and break the news to this poor creature.' 'I!' cried Martin Gurwood; 'it is impossible--I--' 'You, and no one else,' said Humphrey. 'In the first place you are more accustomed than I am to such deeply painful scenes as that which will ensue. It is fitting that the words which you will have to say to her should come from the mouth of a man like you, a servant of God, keeping himself unspotted from the world, rather than from any of us who are living this driving, tearing, work-a-day life.' Martin Gurwood was silent for a few moments, his eyes fixed on the ground; then he said with a shudder, 'I cannot do it. I feel I cannot do it.' 'O yes, you can, and you said Humphrey, touching him kindly on the shoulder. 'Shall I have to tell her--all?'