“Throw it off.  Come out of the foul lie.”

“I will live no lie, Paul.  I never would have gone with John Gurney as his wife, if he had claimed me.”

“Then you are free to be mine,”—­coming a step nearer.

She drew back.

“I don’t think He taught that.  I cannot go behind His words.”

“Grey, I will not drag you one step where your free will does not lead you.  Last night I said, ’I love this woman so well that I will leave her sooner than drag her into crime.’  You shall do what you think right.  I will be silent.”

“Good bye, then, Paul.”

Yet he did not take the offered hand:  stood moodily looking down into the water, crushing back something in his heart,—­the only thing in his life dear or pleasant, it may be.

“Oh, if women knew what it is to sell themselves!  They will marry more purely, maybe, soon.  I believe that Christ made the marriage-vow binding, Paul, because, though some might break it with pure intent, yet, if it were of no avail, as it is in those Homes you talk of, and in Indiana, women would become more degraded by brutal men, live falser lives, than even now.  I’m afraid, Paul,”—­with a sorrowful smile,—­“men will have to educate the inner law of their natures more, before they can live out from it:  until then we’ll have to obey an outer law.  You know how your Phalansteries have ended.”

While she spoke, she gathered her mantle about her.  It was a good thing to talk, fast and lightly, so that he would leave her without more pain.  God had helped her do right.  It was bravest, most Christ-like, for her to bear the loss she had brought on herself, and to renounce a happiness she had made guilty.  But, if women knew—­Sitting on the rock by the water’s edge, she thrust her fingers into the damp mould with a thought of the time when she could lie under it,—­grow clean, through the strange processes of death, from all impurity.  If she could but creep down there now, a false-sworn, unloving wife, out of this man’s sight, out of God’s sight!

“Will you go?”—­looking up with blanched cheek.  “You were never so noble as now, Paul Blecker, when you left me to myself to judge.  If you had only touched my love”—­

“You would have yielded.  I know.  I’m not utterly base, Grey.  I am glad,” his face growing red, “you think I have been honorable.  I tried to be.  I want to act as a man of gentle blood and a Christian would do,—­though I’m not either.”

It was a chivalric face that looked down on her, though nervous and haggard.  She saw that.  How bare and mean her life yawned before her that moment! how all quiet and joy waited for her in the arms hanging listlessly by his side, as if their work in life were done!  Must she sacrifice her life to an eternal law of God? Was this Free Love so vile a thing?

“Will you go?”—­rising suddenly.  “While you stand there, the Devil comes very near me, Paul.”  She held out her hand.  “You would despise me, if I yielded now.”