CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.


Dorian had not found Carlia Duke; instead, he had found something which
appeared to him to be the end of all things. Had he found her dead, in
her virginal purity, he could have placed her, with Mildred, safely away
in his heart and his hopes; but this!... What more could he now do? That
he did not take the first train home was because he was benumbed into
inactivity.

The young man had never before experienced such suffering of spirit. The
leaden weight on his heart seemed to be crushing, not only his physical
being, but his spirit also into the depths of despair. As far back in
his boyhood as he could remember, he had been taught the enormity of
sexual sin, until it had become second nature for him to think of it as
something very improbable, if not impossible, as pertaining to himself.
And yet, here it was, right at the very door of his heart, casting its
evil shadow into the most sacred precincts of his being. He had never
imagined it coming to any of his near and dear ones, especially not
to Carlia--Carlia, his neighbor, his chummy companion in fields and
highways, his schoolmate. He pictured her in many of her wild adventures
as a child, and in her softer moods as a grown-up girl. He saw again her
dark eyes flash with anger, and then her pearly teeth gleam in laughter
at him. He remembered how she used to run from him, and then at other
times how she would cling to him as if she pleaded for a protection
which he had not given. The weak had reached out to the strong, and the
stronger one had failed. If 'remorse of conscience' is hell, Dorian
tasted of its bitter depths, for it came to him now that perhaps because
of his neglect, Carlia had been led to her fall.