"Joyce, as God hears me, I do believe you. Now I am more eager than ever to be your friend."
"You—cannot be mine—but you must be his!"
"His?" Ruth started back.
"Yes. I do know—something of his life. He belonged—to your world. He had a great, a terrible trouble—but through it all he saw the stars, not the mud, and he came out of it—a strong, tender, brave man."
A dull sob shook the low, sweet voice.
"All the shameful sorrow served as a purpose to make him noble—and splendid; but his soul was sad and hurt. He never blamed any one, though there were others who should have suffered more than he. He just gave himself up to the chance of gaining good out of all the evil. Then he came here—to rest. But he could not help being kind and helpful. He found—me. He taught me, he gave me hope and showed me—how to live. Oh! you can never understand. You have always had life—I never had it until he took the blindness from me.
"He tried to do the best for me—he wanted me to marry Jude Lauzoon. He tried to make Jude good, too—but that was more than even he could accomplish. Then I'm—afraid I cannot tell you—this it might—soil your soul."
"Go on." Ruth spoke hoarsely. She was spellbound and a deathly coldness crept over her.
"Well, Jude dragged all of me down, down, down—all of me but the part that—Mr. Gaston had made. That part clung to him as if he were its God."
"I see, I see. Go on!"