“My darling,” he said, “men are not changed in an instant.  What if those Christians had succeeded!...  I condemn it all as strongly as you.  I saw a couple of newspapers this afternoon that are as wicked as anything that the Christians have ever done.  They exulted in all these crimes.  It will throw the movement back ten years....  Do you think that there are not thousands like yourself who hate and detest this violence?...  But what does faith mean, except that we know that mercy will prevail?  Faith, patience and hope—­these are our weapons.”

He spoke with passionate conviction, his eyes fixed on hers, in a fierce endeavour to give her his own confidence, and to reassure the remnants of his own doubtfulness.  It was true that he too hated what she hated, yet he saw things that she did not....  Well, well, he told himself, he must remember that she was a woman.

The look of frantic horror passed slowly out of her eyes, giving way to acute misery as he talked, and as his personality once more began to dominate her own.  But it was not yet over.

“But the volors,” she cried, “the volors!  That is deliberate; that is not the work of the mob.”

“My darling, it is no more deliberate than the other.  We are all human, we are all immature.  Yes, the Council permitted it, ... permitted it, remember.  The German Government, too, had to yield.  We must tame nature slowly, we must not break it.”

He talked again for a few minutes, repeating his arguments, soothing, reassuring, encouraging; and he saw that he was beginning to prevail.  But she returned to one of his words.

“Permitted it!  And you permitted it.”

“Dear; I said nothing, either for it or against.  I tell you that if we had forbidden it there would have been yet more murder, and the people would have lost their rulers.  We were passive, since we could do nothing.”

“Ah! but it would have been better to die....  Oh, Oliver, let me die at least!  I cannot bear it.”

By her hands which he still held he drew her nearer yet to himself.

“Sweetheart,” he said gravely, “cannot you trust me a little?  If I could tell you all that passed to-day, you would understand.  But trust me that I am not heartless.  And what of Julian Felsenburgh?”

For a moment he saw hesitation in her eyes; her loyalty to him and her loathing of all that had happened strove within her.  Then once again loyalty prevailed, the name of Felsenburgh weighed down the balance, and trust came back with a flood of tears.

“Oh, Oliver,” she said, “I know I trust you.  But I am so weak, and all is so terrible.  And He so strong and merciful.  And will He be with us to-morrow?”

* * * * *

It struck midnight from the clock-tower a mile away as they yet sat and talked.  She was still tremulous from the struggle; but she looked at him smiling, still holding his hands.  He saw that the reaction was upon her in full force at last.