"I'm praying all wrong," he whispered. "Forgive me, but I'm all in the dark to-night. Thou knowest, Lord, how awful the dark can be. I'm not asking for an answer. Only guide our feet! Deliver us from evil—deliver her—O God—deliver my Dinah—by that love which is of Thee and which nothing will ever alter! If I may not help her, give me strength—to stand aside!"
A great shiver went through him; he gripped his hands together suddenly and passionately.
"O my God," he groaned, "it's the hardest thing on earth—to stand and do nothing—when I love her so."
Something seemed to give way within him with the words. His shoulders shook convulsively. He buried his face in his arms.
And in that moment the power that had stayed Dinah upon the threshold suddenly urged her forward.
Almost before she realized it, she was there at his side, stooping over him, holding him—holding him fast in a clasp that was free from any hesitation or fear, a clasp in which all her pulsing womanhood rushed forth to him, exulting, glorying in its self-betrayal.
"My dear! Oh, my dear!" she said. "Are you praying for me?"
"Dinah!" he said.
Just her name, no more; but spoken in a tone that thrilled her through and through! He leaned against her for a few moments, almost as if he feared to move. Then, as one gathering strength, he uttered a great sigh and slowly got to his feet.
"You mustn't bother about me," he said, and the sudden rapture had all gone out of his voice; it had the flatness of utter weariness. "I shall be all right."