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.