"Is it because I haven't expressed regret for all the things I have—to regret?"
She shook her head.
"Because if it is," he went on, "I haven't done it only for the reason that the utmost expression would be so inadequate as to become a mockery. When a man has sinned against light, as I've done, no mere cries of contrition are going to win him pardon. That must come as a spontaneous act of grace, as it wells out of the heart of the Most High—or it can't come at all."
"That isn't the reason."
"Then there's another one?"
"Yes; another one."
"One that's insurmountable?"
"Yes, as things are—that's insurmountable."
With a look of dumb, unresenting sadness, he turned away, and, leaning on the mantelpiece, stood with his back toward her, and his face buried in his hands.