Some things--such things--never die.
They stay; and in our cheerfulest, most peaceful moments confront us, and
mock the new life we are leading. There is no refuge from memory and
remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or
without repentance." He turned again from me and set a sombre face
towards the ravine. "Roscoe," I said, taking his arm, "I cannot believe
that you have any sin on your conscience so dark that it is not wiped out
now."
"God bless you for your confidence. But there is one woman who, I fear,
could, if she would, disgrace me before the world. You understand," he
added, "that there are things we repent of which cannot be repaired. One
thinks a sin is dead, and starts upon a new life, locking up the past,
not deceitfully, but believing that the book is closed, and that no good
can come of publishing it; when suddenly it all flames out like the
letters in Faust's book of conjurations."
"Wait," I said. "You need not tell me more, you must not--now; not until
there is any danger. Keep your secret. If the woman--if THAT woman--ever
places you in danger, then tell me all.
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