It was the same room. He noted the chair where Olive had sat the day before, he remembered the quiet ticking clock on the mantelpiece, the fire-irons that were placed on the hearth. He recalled the words of the servant, "Mr. Castlemaine is expecting you, sir." Did that mean that Olive had deputed her father to speak for her? If so, it meant refusal. His heart grew cold at the thought. The door opened and Olive entered. Eagerly he looked at her, feverishly he tried to read her answer in her eyes.
She came up close to him, and then stood still. Her eyes were full of tears.
"Olive?" he said. Everything he meant seemed to be in her name as he uttered it. It was a question, it was an expression of his love, of his heart's longings.
"Yes," she replied.
He lifted her hand reverently to his lips and kissed it. He longed to take her in his arms, and to tell her of his heart's joy; he longed to kiss her lips, and tell her that he would give his whole life to make himself worthy of her trust. But something sealed his lips. What was it?
Is there, humanly speaking, a diviner power on earth than the love of a pure, womanly woman? Is there anything that can make a bad man ashamed of his badness, or lead a purposeless man to devote his life to some great and worthy cause, so really and truly as the love of a woman whom he knows to be worthy of the name of woman? If there is, I do not know of it. If the old, old story that sin came upon the race by a woman is true, it is more true that good women are God's greatest means of purifying the world of its sin. Radford Leicester had not been a good man. If he had not fallen as low as some, it was because of innate pride, and because his nature abhorred some of the grosser and coarser forms of sin. He had not been filled with high purposes, he had lived wholly for self; but as he kissed Olive's hand, such a contrition, such a shame as he had never known before, came into his heart. Proud man as he was, he found himself saying what he would have laughed to scorn a few months before.
"Thank you, Olive," he said, still holding her hand, "you have given me a new life to live." He hesitated a moment, and then went on speaking again. "I want to tell you this," he said. "Although I am unworthy of you, I will try and make myself worthy. That promise I made yesterday I will keep. Yes, I will keep it. And—and if there is a God, I will find Him."
He spoke the words reverently. There was not a touch of the cynic in his voice; it was even as he felt. God had used this woman to lead him the first step towards his salvation.
"You have no doubt, no fear, Olive?" he said.
"No," she said quietly, "not one. I believe you, I trust you implicitly."