Horatio sighed. Why should not men and women be as carefree as these songsters of the air? Why all this sadness in a world that God had made so beautiful? Why all this sorrow and sin?
Horatio turned to the girl beside him, and there was a wonderful light in his eyes, the light of humility and spiritual love. She lifted her eyes to his, then dropped them, then lifted them again, then dropped them again. A strange thing had happened. The curate's heart was so filled with the spirit of kindness and pity that there was no resisting it, either by him or by her. His well planned attack and her watchful defense were alike unavailing against the spirit of kindness and pity!
Tears came suddenly into Horatio's eyes, and when he tried to speak there was a catch in his voice. He looked at this young woman. God's fair creature, and it seemed as if he read into her soul and understood. Then he reached out impulsively and took her two hands in his.
"My poor child! My poor child!" he murmured.
The gentle curate was far off the track of approved detective procedure. He was neither master of himself nor of the situation. His analytical mind had failed him, his intuitive insight also, leaving only the treasure of his heart as an available asset. Quite forgotten was his carefully set trap! And the girl's letter! And her lies! Just one fact remained, that here was a soul in distress, a sister pilgrim on life's hard highway who needed succor.
"You have suffered! You have suffered! I—I am sorry!" he added.
In Hester's whole life this was a unique moment. For years she had broken the law and had grown skilful in defending herself, after the fashion of law breakers. Had Merle sprung his trap it is doubtful if he would have caught her. Had he challenged her with the letter it is more than likely she would have found some way of explaining it. Had he pointed out her lies she would have saved herself by other lies. That was the sort of thing she knew how to do, but she had never learned to defend herself against love; she didn't know the answering move to pity—and when he looked at her like that—as Rosalie had looked—and told her he was sorry, why—it got right through her guard, it was more than she could bear, and, before either of them knew it, that world-old miracle, the power of simple goodness, had been shown again, and one more starved soul had heard and answered the silent voice.
Hester's bosom began to heave, her breath came in quick, sharp gulps, she clenched her hands and tried to fight this thing that was happening, but it was too strong for her.
"Wh—what is it?" she gasped, her eyes on him in desperate pleading.
"It is God calling you, my child. It is God calling," the curate whispered.