“Beth, please tell me what all this means,” he pleaded simply, his hands outstretched toward her.  “Tell me, because I love you; tell me, because I desire to help you.  It is true we have not known each other long; yet, surely, the time and opportunity have been sufficient for each to learn much regarding the character of the other.  You trust me, you believe in my word; down in the secret depths of your heart you are beginning to love me.  I believe that, little girl; I believe that, even while your lips deny its truth.  It is the instinct of love which teaches me, for I love you.  I may not know your name, the story of your life, who or what you are, but I love you, Beth Norvell, with the life-love of a man.  What is it, then, between us?  What is it?  God help me!  I could battle against realities, but not against ghosts.  Do you suppose I cannot forgive, cannot excuse, cannot blot out a past mistake?  Do you imagine my love so poor a thing as that?  Do not wrong me so.  I am a man of the world, and comprehend fully those temptations which come to all of us.  I can let the dead past bury its dead, satisfied with the present and the future.  Only tell me the truth, the naked truth, and let me combat in the open against whatever it is that stands between us.  Beth, Beth, this is life or death to me!”

She stood staring at him, her face gone haggard, her eyes full of misery.  Suddenly she sank upon her knees beside a chair, and, with a moan, buried her countenance within her hands.

“Beth,” he asked, daring to touch her trembling hair, “have I hurt you?  Have I done wrong to speak thus?”

A single sob shook the slender, bowed figure, the face still hidden.

“Yes,” she whispered faintly, “you have hurt me; you have done wrong.”

“But why?” he insisted.  “Is not my love worthy?”

She lifted her head then, resting one hand against the dishevelled hair, her eyes misty from tears.

“Worthy?  O God, yes! but so useless; so utterly without power.”

Winston strode to the window and back again, his hands clenched, the veins showing across his forehead.  Suddenly he dropped upon his knees beside her, clasping her one disengaged hand within both his own.

“Beth, I refuse to believe,” he exclaimed firmly.  “Love is never useless, never without power, either in this world or the next.  Tell me, then, once for all, here before God, do you love me?”

She swept the clinging tears from her lashes, the soft clasp of her fingers upon his hand unconsciously tightening.

“You may read an answer within my face,” she replied, slowly.  “It must be that my eyes tell the truth, although I cannot speak it with my lips.”

“Cannot?  In God’s name, why?”

She choked, yet the voice did not wholly fail her.

“Because I have no right.  I—­I am the wife of another.”

The head drooped lower, the hair shadowing the face, and Winston, his lips set and white, stared at her, scarcely comprehending.  A moment later he sprang to his feet, one hand pressed across his eyes, slowly grasping the full measure of her confession.