He chanted-- "It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul." Some clumsy movement of his foot shook the bed and jarred her.

She drew in her breath sharply.
"God forgive me!" he cried, "did I hurt you, darling ?" "I don't mind.

It's worth it," said she.
At her look his sins rose up to his remembrance.

He flung himself on his knees beside the bed, shaken with his passion of remorse.

He muttered a wild, inarticulate confession.
"Don't, Nevill, don't," she whispered; "it made no difference.