The gate was still shut; the wall still confronted him.
He could not and would not scale it.

She had risked her own happiness--even her reputation--to keep this skeleton hidden, the secret inviolate.

Only in the late years had she begun to recover from the strain.

She had stood the brunt and borne the sufferings of another's sin without complaint, without reward, giving up everything in life in consecration to her trust.

He, of all men, could not tear the mask away, nor could he stoop by the more subtle paths of friendship, love, or duty to seek to look behind it--not without her own free and willing hand to guide him.