The tower of the Mission stood black against it.

The dawn was coming.

The baffling obscurity of the night was passing.

Hidden things were coming into view.
Annixter, his eyes half-closed, his chin upon his fist, allowed his imagination full play.

How would it be if he should take Hilma into his life, this beautiful young girl, pure as he now knew her to be; innocent, noble with the inborn nobility of dawning womanhood?
An overwhelming sense of his own unworthiness suddenly bore down upon him with crushing force, as he thought of this.