He knew that Life was a mysterious thing, and that even a dying flame of it might sometimes be fanned to flickering anew by powers more subtle than science usually regards as applicable influences.

He knew the nature of the half-dead woman lying on her bed upstairs, and he comprehended what the soul of her life had been,--her divinely innocent passion for a self-centred man.

He had seen it in the tortured courage of her eyes in hours of mortal agony.
"Don't forget," she had said.

"Our Father which art in Heaven.

Don't let anyone forget.