“I think so, too,” he said.

His words were spoken with such assurance as to awaken a vague surmise that he had reasons which he had not told.  She pressed his hands and besought him to explain.

“Oh! tell me,” she said eagerly; “is there anything new?  Has anything happened?”

“Pepeeta,” he answered slowly, “we have been strangely and kindly dealt with.  It is not quite so bad as it seemed, for I did not kill him.”

“You did not kill him!  What do you mean?”

“No, it is a strange story!  I thought I had killed him.  I knew murder was in my heart.  It was no fault of mine that the blow was not fatal.  I left him in the road for dead.  But, thank God, he did not die; he did not die then!”

“He did, not die then?  Have you seen him?  Is he dead now?  Tell me!  Tell me!”

Quietly, gently, briefly as he could, he narrated the events of the past few months, and as he did so she drew in short breaths or long inspirations as the story shifted from phase to phase, and when at last he had finished, she clasped her hands and gazed up into the depths of the sky with eyes that were swimming in tears.

“Poor doctor, poor old man,” Pepeeta sighed at last.  “Oh!  How we have wronged him, how we have made him suffer.  He was always kind!  He was rough, but he was kind.  Oh! why could I not have loved him?  But I did not, I could not.  My heart was asleep.  It had never once waked from its slumber until it heard your voice, David.  And, afterwards,—­well I could not love him!  But why should we have wronged him so?  How base it was!  How terrible!  I pity him, I blame myself—­and yet I cannot wish him back.  Listen to me, David.  I am afraid I am glad he is dead.  What do you think of that?  Oh! what a mystery the human heart is!  How can these terrible contradictions exist together?  I would give my life to undo that wrong, and yet I should die if it were undone.  All this is in the heart of a woman—­so much of love, so much of hate, for I should have hated him, at last!  I cannot understand myself.  I cannot understand this story.  What does all this mean for us, David?  Perhaps you can see the light now, as you used to!  I think from your face and your voice that you are your old self again.  Oh! if you can see that inner light once more, consult it.  Ask it if there is any reason why we cannot be happy now?  Tell it that your Pepeeta is too weak to endure this separation any longer.  I am only a woman, David!  I cannot any longer bear life alone.  I love you too deeply.  I cannot live without you.”

Waiting long before he answered, as if to reflect and be sure, David said quietly but confidently, “Pepeeta, I cannot see any reason why we should not begin our lives over again, starting at this very place from which we made that false beginning three long years ago.  We cannot go back, but, in a sense, we can begin again.”

“But can we really begin again?” she asked.  “How is it possible?  I do not see!  We are not what we were.  There is so much of evil in our hearts.  We were pure and innocent three years ago.  Is it not necessary to be pure and innocent?  And how can we be with all this fearful past behind us?  We cannot become children again!”