CHAPTER IX.
THE PINNACLE OF THE TEMPLE Aubrey's letter fell upon Helen as a crushing, stunning blow.
At first her womanhood reeled beneath it.
"What have I been--what have I done," she cried, "that a man dares to write thus to me ?" Then her wifehood rose up in arms as she thought of Ronnie's gay, boyish trust in her; their happy life together; his joyous love and laughter.
She clenched her hands.
"I could _kill_ Aubrey Treherne!" she said.
Then her motherhood arose; and bowing her proud head, she burst into a passion of tears.
At length she stood up and walked over to the window.
"It will be bad for my little son if I weep," she said, and smiled through her tears.
The trees were leafless, the garden beds empty.

The park looked sodden, dank and cheerless.

Summer was long dead and over, yet frosts had not begun, bringing suggestions of mistletoe and holly.
But the mists were lifting, fading in white wreaths from off the grass; and, at that moment, the wintry sun, bursting through the November clouds, shone on the diamond panes, illumining the cross and the motto beneath it.
"_In hoc vince!_" murmured Helen.

"As I told my own dear boy, the path of clear shining is the way to victory.

_In hoc signo vinces!_ I will take this gleam of sunlight as a token of triumph.