and how I suffered?  Do you know who this other woman is whom you are insulting with your doubts and guesses in the dark?  Can’t you spare her?  Am I not enough?  Perhaps it was easy for her, too; perhaps her silence cost her nothing; perhaps she did not suffer and has nothing but happiness and content to look forward to for the rest of her life; and I tell you that it is because we did put it away, and kill it, and not give way to it that I am whatever I am to-day; whatever good there is in me is due to that temptation and to the fact that I beat it and overcame it and kept myself honest and clean.  And when I met you and learned to know you I believed in my heart that God had sent you to me that I might know what it was to love a woman whom I could marry and who could be my wife; that you were the reward for my having overcome temptation and the sign that I had done well.  And now you throw me over and put me aside as though I were something low and unworthy, because of this temptation, because of this very thing that has made me know myself and my own strength and that has kept me up for you.”

As the young man had been speaking, the bishop’s eyes had never left his face, and as he finished, the face of the priest grew clearer and decided, and calmly exultant.  And as Latimer ceased he bent his head above his daughter’s, and said in a voice that seemed to speak with more than human inspiration.  “My child,” he said, “if God had given me a son I should have been proud if he could have spoken as this young man has done.”

But the woman only said, “Let him go to her.”

“Ellen, oh, Ellen!” cried the father.

He drew back from the girl in his arms and looked anxiously and feelingly at her lover.  “How could you, Ellen,” he said, “how could you?” He was watching the young man’s face with eyes full of sympathy and concern.  “How little you know him,” he said, “how little you understand.  He will not do that,” he added quickly, but looking questioningly at Latimer and speaking in a tone almost of command.  “He will not undo all that he has done; I know him better than that.”  But Latimer made no answer, and for a moment the two men stood watching each other and questioning each other with their eyes.  Then Latimer turned, and without again so much as glancing at the girl walked steadily to the door and left the room.  He passed on slowly down the stairs and out into the night, and paused upon the top of the steps leading to the street.  Below him lay the avenue with its double line of lights stretching off in two long perspectives.  The lamps of hundreds of cabs and carriages flashed as they advanced toward him and shone for a moment at the turnings of the cross-streets, and from either side came the ceaseless rush and murmur, and over all hung the strange mystery that covers a great city at night.  Latimer’s rooms lay to the south, but he stood looking toward a spot to the north with a reckless, harassed look in his face that had not been there for many months.  He stood so for a minute, and then gave a short shrug of disgust at his momentary doubt and ran quickly down the steps.  “No,” he said, “if it were for a month, yes; but it is to be for many years, many more long years.”  And turning his back resolutely to the north he went slowly home.