I could pray that God would grant me a feeling for Katy which should not be sinful.  And He did at last, so I could think of her without a wish that she was mine.  Times there were when the old love would burst forth with fearful power, and then I wished that I might die.  These were my moments of temptation which I struggled to overcome.  Sometimes a song, a strain of music, or a ray of moonlight on the floor would bring the past to me so vividly that I would stagger beneath the burden, feeling that it was greater than I could bear.  But God was very merciful and sent me work which took up all my time, leaving little leisure for regrets, and driving me away from my own pain to soothe the pain of others.  When Katy came to us last summer there was an hour of trial, when faith in God grew weak, and I was tempted to question the justice of His dealing with me.  But that, too, passed, and in my love for your child I forgot the mother in part, looking upon her as a sister rather than the Katy I had loved so well.  I would have given my life to have saved that child for her, even though it was a bar between us, a something which separated her from me more than the words she spoke at the altar.  Though dead, that baby is still a bar, and Katy is not the same to me she was before that little life came into being.  It is not wrong to love her as I do now.  I feel no pang of conscience save when something unexpected carries me back to the old ground where I have fought so many battles.”

Morris paused a moment, thinking of the time when Katy came to him with her story of Genevra, and wondering if it were best to repeat the incidents of that night.  It was not, he finally concluded.  It would be better for Katy to tell it herself, and so he added at last:  “What I have borne has told upon me terribly.  My people say I work too hard, but they look only on the surface—­they have never seen that inner chamber of my heart, where only you have been fully admitted.  Even Helen knows not half what’s there, but I felt that it was due to you, and so have told you all, asking that no shadow of censure shall fall on Katy, who would be greatly shocked to know what you know now.”

Morris’ manner was that of a man who spoke with perfect sincerity, and it carried conviction to Wilford’s heart, disarming him for a time of the fierce anger and resentment he had felt while listening to Morris’ story.  Acting upon the good impulse of the moment, he arose, and offering his hand to Morris, he said: 

“You have done nobly, Dr. Grant, I believe in your religion now.  Forgive me that I ever doubted it.  I exonerate you from blame.”

And thus they pledged their faith, Wilford meaning then all he said, and feeling only respect for the man who had confessed his love for Katy.  After what had passed, Morris felt that it would be pleasanter for Wilford if he were gone, and after a time he suggested returning to Silverton at once, inasmuch as the crisis was past and Katy out of danger.  There was a struggle in Wilford’s mind as to the answer he should make to this suggestion.  It would not be pleasant to see Morris there now, for though he had said he forgave him, there was a feeling of disquiet at his heart, and he at last signified his willingness for him to leave when he thought best.