"I do not understand. You prayed—for me?"
Her eyes, turning to his own, gave answer enough.
"I see! You prayed for me, poor child? that I could find a God in the world?"—patting the hand resting on his arm pitifully. "And it was of no use, you think? no use?"—dreamily, his eye fixed on the solemn night without.
There was a slow silence. She looked awe-struck in his face: he had forgotten her.
"I have not found Him in the world?"—the words dropping slowly from his lips, as though he questioned with the great Unknown.
She thought she saw in his face hints that his soul had once waged a direr battle than any she had known,—to know, to be. What was the end? God, and Life, and Death, what were they to him now?
He looked at her at last, recalled to her. She thought he stifled a sigh. But he put aside his account with God for another day: now it was with her.
"You think it right to leave me for this, Theodora? You think it a sin to love an unbeliever?"
"Yes, Douglas,"—but she caught his hand tighter, as she said it.
"The gulf between us is to be the difference between heaven and hell? Is that true?"