"It was I, dear Leo, sent to save you in your hour of need. You are ill—you are not yourself—you know not what you are doing;—but there is One who watches over His children, and in the hour of danger and temptation——"
"But why did he send you? Paul, do you believe you were really sent by Him?" she was awed, but scarcely subdued—"because I don't. I cannot think even God would be so cruel as to choose you——" she broke off panting.
"He chooses His own instruments, Leo. Do not let this distress you, dear little sister—I may call you 'sister,' mayn't I?—You can trust me, can you not? Lean on me," he drew her hand within his arm, "and tell me you forgive——"
"Forgive—forgive?" she sobbed afresh. "Is it I to forgive—I who have done it all? Paul, don't you know? Don't you see?"
"I only see a poor little lamb that has lost its fold."
"But the little lamb has been straying in other folds, and it was so dark there, Paul—so dark and cold,—oh, Paul, why did you stop me? Why—why did you save me? You know. You know;"—her sobs were heartrending.
He was silent.
"You were happy till you came here," said Leo, brokenly. "You loved Maud—at least you thought you did, and she, she still thinks she loves you. She——"
"Hush—no more. You must not say such things, Leo." He was calm no longer; the sweat broke out upon his brow.
"But it is the truth. Oh, it is—it is the truth."