It was then I hurt you, Margret,--to the death: your true life lay in me, as mine in you." He had gone on drearily, as though holding colloquy with himself, as though great years of meaning surged up and filled the broken words.
It may have been thus with the girl, for her face deepened as she listened.

For the first time for many long days tears welled up into her eyes, and rolled between her fingers unheeded.
"I came through the streets to-night baffled in life,--a mean man that might have been noble,--all the years wasted that had gone before,--disappointed,--with nothing to hope for but time to work humbly and atone for the wrongs I had done.

When I lay yonder, my soul on the coast of eternity, I resolved to atone for every selfish deed.
I had no thought of happiness; God knows I had no hope of it.

I had wronged you most: I could not die with that wrong unforgiven." "Unforgiven, Stephen ?" she sobbed; "I forgave it long ago." He looked at her a moment, then by some effort choked down the word he would have spoken, and went on with his bitter confession.
"I came through the crowded town, a homeless, solitary man, on the Christmas eve when love comes to every man.

If ever I had grown sick for a word or touch from the one soul to whom alone mine was open, I thirsted for it then.