He stretched out his hand to her, and laid it on her dress, as if appealing for mercy; but she did not turn to him, or look upon him, or open her white lips to utter another word.

Then there came more stir and noise in the church, footsteps sounded upon the pavement, and an inquisitive face peeped out of the vestry near the altar where they stood.

It was no longer prudent to remain as they were, subject to curiosity and scrutiny.

Roland rose from his knees, and without glancing again toward her, he spoke in a low voice of unutterable grief and supplication.
"Let me see you and speak to you once more," he said.
"Once more," she repeated.
"This evening," he continued, "at your hotel." "Yes," she answered.

"I am travelling under Phebe Marlowe's name.