“Yes—­that you could bear,” said Janet quietly, “with him to help you—­and God.  It would all straighten out in the end—­because the first step would be right.”

Rachel turned upon her.

“Now that I’ve told you,” she cried, “can you ever think the same of me again?  You know you can’t!”

Janet caught her cold hands, and held them close, looking up to her.

“Not the same—­no, not the same!  But if I cared for you before, Rachel—­I care for you ten thousand times more now.  Don’t you see?—­it will be the same with him?”

Rachel shook her head.

“No—­a man’s different,” she repeated, “a man’s different!”

“Anyway, you must,” said Janet resolutely, “you know you must.  You don’t need me to tell you.”

Rachel wrenched herself away with a little moan and hid her face in her hands as she leaned against the mantelpiece.  Janet, looking up, and transfigured by that spiritual energy, that ultimate instinctive faith which was the root force in her, went on, pleading.

“Dear Rachel, one goes on living side by side—­doing one’s daily work—­and thinking just one’s ordinary thoughts—­and all the time one never speaks of the biggest things of all—­the only things that matter, really.  Isn’t it God that matters—­and the law in our hearts?  If we break it—­if we aren’t true—­if we wrong those that love us—­if we injure and deceive—­how will it be when we grow old—­when we come to die?  Whatever our gain—­we shall have lost our souls?”

“You think I should injure him by marrying him?” cried Rachel.

“No—­no!  A thousand times, no!  But by deceiving him—­by not trusting him—­with all your heart, and all your life—­that would be the worst injury.”

“How do you know all there may have been in his life?” said Rachel, vehemently—­“I don’t ask.”

“I think you do know.”

Rachel considered the words, finally dropping her face again out of sight.

“Well, I dare say I do!” she said wearily.  “Of course he’s a hundred times too good for me.”

“Don’t turn it off like that!  It’s for oneself one has to think—­one’s own fulfilling of the law.  Love—­is the fulfilling of the law.  And love means trust—­and truth.”

Janet’s voice sank.  She had said her say.  Rachel was silent for some time, and Janet sat motionless.  The clock and the fire were the only sounds.  At last Rachel moved.  With a long sigh, she pressed back the ruffled hair from her temples, and standing tiptoe before a small mirror that hung over the mantelpiece, she began to pin up some coils that had broken loose.  When that was done, she turned slowly towards Janet.

“Very well.  That’s settled.  How shall it be done?  Shall I write it or say it?”

Janet gasped a little between laughing and crying.  Then she caught Rachel’s cold unresisting hand, and laid it tenderly against her own cheek.