"I can forgive, John, dear. I do forgive. It was not your fault. Is it the fault of the bird that he goes to his death when the eyes of the snake are upon him? It was not that you were weak, even; it was that— she was strong, strong in the one way in which she leads. I do forgive— forgive and understand."
[Illustration: I DO FORGIVE—FORGIVE AND UNDERSTAND]
"You are good beyond all goodness," he murmured, voice low, vibrant.
"No," she said. She smiled a smile that was no smile. And then: "It's been a dream, John—a bitter, bitter dream. But we are awake, now—awake at last. And we'll never dream again—never."
She rose. Violet eyes were moist. She turned away, a little, that he might not see. Her voice was lighter as she asked:
"John, dear. Don't you want me to stay and help you?"
He shook his head.
"Go, Kathryn," he requested. "Go with Tom. It will be more merciful to both of us. And I want to be alone—to try to realize that the chance is mine to redeem myself. I want to ask God to try to forgive me, and, in His infinite mercy, to help me atone for all the wrong I've done you."
She bent her head. It was bitterly hard for her, as for him. She knew, as he said, it would be more merciful to them both that she should go. Gently she bent. Her lips touched his bowed head. Slowly she turned. Slowly she walked across the dirty, disordered room. She looked back, once. He was still sitting there, head buried deep in hands…. She was glad, glad unselfishly. She could give him happiness. Would there ever be happiness for her? She was afraid…. Yet she was glad—glad as Blake was glad—Still there was in her a great, great emptiness.
[Illustration]