"If you do love me, and I know you do," he said brokenly, "never speak to
me about that again. You've forgiven it--you forgive everything--but I
never shall forgive myself, or feel that I can atone, for what I
meant--for that one moment--to do, as long as I live. On Christmas night,
when there was no evil in my heart, you thought you saw it there, because
your trust had been betrayed before; I vowed then that I would teach you
at least that I was worthy of your confidence, and that most men were;
and when I had taught you, not only to trust me, but to love me, so that
you saw no evil even when it existed--I very nearly betrayed you. It
wasn't my strength that saved us _both_--it was your wonderful love and
faith. There's no desire in the world that would profane such an altar
of holiness as you unveiled before me that night." He lifted her soft
dress, and kissed the hem of her skirt. "I haven't forgiven myself
about--what happened before I knew you, either," he whispered; "you're
wrong there.
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