So the girl went on; her back was turned to her husband, and she was engrossed in her task of mercy, and did not see what he was doing.  She did not see that he had started forward in his chair and was staring at the woman; she did not see him leaning forward, farther and farther, with a strange look upon his face.  But there was something she did see at last, as the woman lifted herself again and stared first at Helen’s own pitying face, and then vaguely about the room, and last of all gazing at David.  Suddenly she stretched out her arms to him and strove to rise, with a wild cry that made Helen leap back in consternation:—­“David!  It’s David!”

And at the same instant David sprang up with what was almost a scream of horror; he reeled and staggered backwards against the wall, clutching with his hands at his forehead, his face a ghastly, ashen gray; and as Helen sprang up and ran towards him, he sank down upon his knees with a moan, gazing up into the air with a look of agony upon his face.  “My God!  My God!” he gasped; “it is my Mary!”

And Helen sank down beside him, clutching him by the arm, and staring at him in terror.  “David, David!” she whispered, in a hoarse voice.  But the man seemed not to hear her, so overwhelmed was he by his own emotion.  “It is Mary,” he cried out again,—­“it is my Mary!—­oh God, have mercy upon my soul!” And then a shudder passed over him, and he buried his face in his arms and fell down upon the floor, with Helen, almost paralyzed with fright, still clinging to him.

In the meantime the woman had still been stretching out her trembling arms to him, crying his name again and again; as she sank back exhausted the man started up and rushed toward her, clutching her by the hand, and exclaiming frantically, “Mary, Mary, it is I—­speak to me!” But the other’s delirium seemed to have returned, and she only stared at him blankly.  At last David staggered to his feet and began pacing wildly up and down, hiding his face in his hands, and crying helplessly, “Oh, God, that this should come to me now!  Oh, how can I bear it—­oh, Mary, Mary!”

He sank down upon the sofa again and burst into fearful sobbing; Helen, who had still been kneeling where he left her, rushed toward him and flung her arms about him, crying out, “David, David, what is the matter?  David, you will kill me; what is it?”

And he started and stared at her wildly, clutching her arm.  “Helen,” he gasped, “listen to me!  I ruined that woman!  Do you hear me?—­do you hear me?  It was I who betrayed her—­I who made her what she is! I—­I! Oh, leave me,—­leave me alone—­oh, what can I do?”

Then as the girl still clung to him, sobbing his name in terror, the man went on, half beside himself with his grief, “Oh, think of it—­oh, how can I bear to know it and live?  Twenty-three years ago, —­and it comes back to curse me now!  And all these years I have been living and forgetting it—­and been happy, and talking of my goodness—­oh God, and this fearful madness upon the earth!  And I made it—­I—­and she has had to pay for it!  Oh, look at her, Helen, look at her—­think that that foulness is mine!  She was beautiful,—­she was pure,—­and she might have been happy, she would have been good, but for me!  Oh God in heaven, where can I hide myself, what can I do?”