His voice faltered, his tears fell upon her forehead, and stooping he kissed her lips softly, reverently, as if he realized the presence of something sacred.

“My precious Edna, no oath shall ever soil my lips again; the touch of yours has purified them.  I have been mad—­I think, for many, many years, and I loath my past life; but remember how sorely I was tried, and be merciful when you judge me.  With your dear little hand in mine to lead me, I will make amends for the ruin and suffering I have wrought, and my Edna—­my own wife, shall save me!” Before the orphan’s mental vision rose the picture of Gertrude, the trembling coral mouth, the childish wistful eyes, the lovely head nestled down so often and so lovingly on her shoulder; and she saw, too, the bent figure and white locks of her beloved pastor, as he sat in his old age, in his childless, desolate home, facing the graves of his murdered children.

“Oh, Mr. Murray!  You can not atone!  You can not call your victims from their tombs.  You can not undo what you have done!  What amends can you make to Mr. Hammond, and to my poor little confiding Gertrude?  I can not help you!  I can not save you!”

“Hush!  You can, you shall!  Do you think I will ever give you up?  Have mercy on my lonely life! my wretched, darkened soul.  Lean your dear head here on my heart, and say, ’St. Elmo, what a wife can do to save her erring, sinful husband, I will do for you.’  If I am ever to be saved, you, you only can effect my redemption; for I trust, I reverence you.  Edna, as you value my soul, my eternal welfare, give yourself to me!  Give your pure, sinless life to purify mine.”

With a sudden bound she sprang from his embrace, and lifted her arms toward the Christ, who seemed to shudder as the flickering light of fading day fell through waving foliage upon it.

“Look yonder to Jesus, bleeding!  Only his blood can wash away your guilt.  Mr. Murray, I can never be your wife.  I have no confidence in you.  Knowing how systematically you have deceived others, how devoid of conscientious scruples you are, I should never be sure that I too was not the victim of your heartless cynicism.  Beside, I—­”

“Hush! hush!  To your keeping I commit my conscience and my heart.”

“No! no!  I am no vicegerent of an outraged and insulted God!  I put no faith in any man whose conscience another keeps.  From the species of fascination which you exert, I shrink with unconquerable dread and aversion, and would almost as soon entertain the thought of marrying Lucifer himself.  Oh! your perverted nature shocks, repels, astonishes, grieves me.  I can neither respect nor trust you.  Mr. Murray, have mercy upon yourself!  Go yonder to Jesus.  He only can save and purify you.”

“Edna, you do not, you can not intend to leave me?  Darling—­”

He held out his arms and moved toward her, but she sprang past him, down the steps of the gallery, out of the church, and paused only at sight of the dark, dull spot on the white steps, where Annie Hammond had lain insensible.