When Avery whispered at length, “I can never, never go back to him!” her answer was prompt.

“My dear, you must.  It will be hard, God knows.  But He will give you strength.  Oh Avery, don’t act for yourself, dear!  Let Him show the way!”

“If He will!” sobbed Avery, with her burning face hidden against her friend’s heart.

“He will, dearest, He will,” Mrs. Lorimer asserted with conviction.  “He is much nearer to us in trouble than most of us ever realize.  Only let Him take the helm; He will steer you through the storm.”

“I feel too wicked,” whispered Avery, “too—­overwhelmed with evil.”

“My dear, feelings are nothing,” said the Vicar’s wife, with a decision that would have shocked the Reverend Stephen unspeakably.  “We can’t help our feelings, but we can put ourselves in the way of receiving help.  Oh, don’t you think He often lets us miss our footing just because He wants us to lean on Him?”

“I don’t know,” Avery said hopelessly.  “But I think it will kill me to go back.  Even if—­if I pretended to forgive him—­I couldn’t possibly endure to—­to go on as if nothing had happened.  Eric—­my first husband—­will always stand between us now.”

“Dear, are you sure that what you heard was not an exaggeration?” Mrs. Lorimer asked gently.

“Oh yes, I am sure.”  There was utter hopelessness in Avery’s reply.  “I have always known that there was something in his past, some cloud of which he would never speak openly.  But I never dreamed—­never guessed—­” She broke off with a sharp shudder.  “Besides, he has offered no explanation, no excuse, no denial.  He lets me believe the worst, and he doesn’t care.  He is utterly callous—­utterly brutal.  That is how I know that the worst is true.”  She rose abruptly, as if inaction had become torture to her.  “Oh, I must leave him!” she cried out wildly.  “I am nothing to him.  My feelings are less than nothing.  He doesn’t really want me.  Any woman could fill my place with him equally well!”

“Hush!” Mrs. Lorimer said.  She went to Avery and held her tightly, as if she would herself do battle with the evil within.  “You are not to say that, Avery.  You are not to think it.  It is utterly untrue.  Suffering may have goaded him into brutality, but he is not wicked at heart.  And, my dear, he is in your hands now—­to make or to mar.  He worships you blindly, and if his worship has become an unholy thing, it is because the thought of losing you has driven him nearly distracted.  You can win it back—­if you will.”

“I don’t want to win it back!” Avery said.  She suffered the arms about her, but she stood rigid in their embrace, unyielding, unresponding.  “His love is horrible to me!  I abhor it!”

“Avery!  Your husband!”

“He is a murderer!” Avery cried passionately.  “He would murder me too if—­if he could bring himself to do without me!  He hates me in his soul.”

“Avery, hush!  You are distraught.  You don’t know what you are saying.”  Mrs. Lorimer drew her back to her chair with tender insistence.  “Sit down, darling!  And try—­do try—­to be quiet for a little!  You are worn out.  I don’t think you can have had any sleep.”