Then the storm broke in convulsive, hysterical weeping. And Horatio waited, without speaking, without trying to stem the flood.
"I—I've told you what isn't true," she confessed in broken tones. "I have no right to be here. I—I'm no good," and the storm broke again.
"Listen to me, my dear," said Merle soothingly. "We are all of us weak and sinful. I'm sure I don't know why, but it seems to be our fate to——"
"Wait!" sobbed the girl. "You don't know—what I am. You don't know—what I have done."
"I know you are sorry," he answered gently.
"Sorry," she repeated. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry, but that isn't enough. I'm going to tell you everything, and——"
"Stop! I don't want to know what you have done. I can help you better if I only know that you are sorry. Whatever your sins, they will be forgiven—if you ask God for forgiveness. You understand, my child?"
"I—I understand."
"If you see any way to make amends for any wrong act you must take that way."
The girl's head was bowed as if in prayer. "I will," she said.