"It is too late to amend." Some light touch thrilled his arm.
"Is it too late, Stephen ?" whispered a childish voice.
The strong man trembled, looking at the little dark figure standing near him.
"We were both wrong: I have been untrue, selfish.

More than you.
Stephen, help me to be a better girl; let us be friends again." She went back unconsciously to the old words of their quarrels long ago.

He drew back.
"Do not mock me," he gasped.

"I suffer, Margret.

Do not mock me with more courtesy." "I do not; let us be friends again." She was crying like a penitent child; her face was turned away; love, pure and deep, was in her eyes.
The red fire-light grew stronger; the clock hushed its noisy ticking to hear the story.