"In paradise, I trust," he replied, bending upon her a searching look. Either his imagination or her thoughts gave her face a strange expression as seen in the uncertain moonlight. It suggested the awed and trembling curiosity with which she might have gone forward to meet the dread realities of the unknown world. A great pity—an intense desire to shield and rescue her—filled his soul.
"Miss Marsden," he said, in a tone that thrilled her in connection with the image called up, "your own words seem to portray you standing on the brink of a fathomless abyss into which you are looking with fear and dread."
"You understand me perfectly," she said. "That is just where I stand; but it is like looking out into one of those Egyptian nights that swallow up everything, and there is nothing but a great blank of darkness."
"It must be so," said Hemstead, sighing deeply. "Only the clear eyes of faith can see across the gulf. But you are a brave girl to stand and look into the gulf."
"Why should I not look into it?" she asked, in a reckless tone. "I've been brought face to face with it to-night, and perhaps shall soon be again. It's always there. If I had to go over Niagara, I should want to go with my eyes open."
"But if you were in the rapids above the falls, would you not permit a strong hand to lift you out? Why should you look down into the gulf? Why not look up to heaven? That is 'always there' just as truly."
"Do you feel sure that you would have gone to heaven if you had been killed to-night?"
"Yes, perfectly sure."
"You are very good."
"No; but God is."