begged me to do.  And when your father turned against you and drove you from your home, all because you had tried to defend me from insult, I saw only the disgrace and did not see the man behind it; and then you went away and I stretched out my arms for you to come back to me and only your words echoed in my ears that you would never come back to me until you were satisfied with yourself.  Then I gave up and argued it out and said it was all over—­”

He had left his seat and at every sentence had tried to take her in his arms, but she kept her palms toward him.

“No, don’t touch me!  You shall hear me out; I must empty all my heart!  I was lonely and heart-sore and driven half wild with doubts and what people said, my father worse than all of them.  And Mr. Willits was kind and always at my beck and call—­and so thoughtful and attentive—­and I tried and tried—­but I couldn’t.  I always had you before me—­and you haunted me day and night, and sometimes when he would come in that door I used to start, hoping it might be you.”

“It is me, my darling!” he cried, springing toward her.  “I don’t want to hear any more—­I must—­I will—­”

“But you shall!  There is something more.  It went on and on and I got so that I did not care, and one day I thought I would give him my promise and the next day all my soul rebelled against it and it was that way until one night Mr. Horn read aloud a story—­and it all came over me and I saw everything plain as if it had been on a stage, and myself and you and Mr. Willits—­and what it meant—­and what would come of it—­and he walked home with me and I told him frankly, and I have never seen him since.  And now here is the last and you must hear it out.  There is not a word I have said to him which I would recall—­not a thing I am ashamed of.  Your lips were the last that touched my own.  There, my darling, it is all told.  I love you with my whole heart and soul and mind and body—­I have never loved anybody else—­I have tried and tried and couldn’t.  I am so tired of thinking for myself,—­so tired,—­so tired.  Take me and do with me as you will!”

Again the plot is too strong for the dialogue.  He had her fast in his arms before her confession was finished.  Then the two sank on the sofa where she lay sobbing her heart out, he crooning over her—­patting her cheeks, kissing away the tears from her eyelids; smoothing the strands of her hair with his strong, firm fingers.  It was his Kate that lay in his grasp—­close—­tightly pressed—­her heart beating against his, her warm, throbbing body next his own, her heart swept of every doubt and care, all her will gone.

As she grew quiet she stretched up her hand, touching his cheek as if to reassure herself that it was really her lover.  Yes!  It was Harry—­her Harry—­Harry who was dead and is alive again—­to whom she had stripped her soul naked—­and who still trusted and loved her.