"What of Tristan? Is his image as clear in your mind? How do you depict the doomed knight, born to suffer and to sin, destined to sorrow from the time of his forest-birth--motherless, beset with enemies, consumed by hopeless passion. I hope you feel sorry for Tristan?"
"Albeit he was a sinner? I assure you, in the old romance which you have not read--which you would hardly care to read--neither Tristan nor Iseult are spotless."
"I have never thought of their wrong-doing. Their fate was so sad, and they loved each other so truly."
"And, again, you can believe, perhaps--you who are so innocent and confiding--that a man who has sinned may forsake the old evil ways and lead a good life, until every stain of that bygone sin is purified. You can believe, as the Greeks believed, in atonement and purification."
"I believe, as I hope all Christians do, that repentance can wash away sin."
"Even the accusing memory of wrong-doing, and make a man's soul white and fair again? That is a beautiful creed."
"I think the Gospel gives us warrant for believing as much--not as some of the Dissenters teach, that one effort of faith, an hour of prayer and ejaculation, can transform a murderer into a saint; but that earnest, sustained regret for wrong-doing, and a steady determination to live a better life----"
"Yes--that is real repentance," exclaimed Angus, interrupting her. "Common sense, even without Gospel light, tells one that it must be good. Christabel--may I call you Christabel?--just for this one isolated half-hour of life--here in Pentargon Bay? You shall be Miss Courtenay directly we leave this spot."
"Call me what you please. I don't think it matters very much," faltered Christabel, blushing deeply.
"But it makes all the difference to me. Christabel, I can't tell you how sweet it is to me just to pronounce your name. If--if--I could call you by that name always, or by a name still nearer and dearer. But you must judge. Give me half-an-hour--half-an-hour of heartfelt earnest truth on my side, and pitying patience on yours. Christabel, my past life has not been what a stainless Christian would call a good life. I have not been so bad as Tristan. I have violated no sacred charge--betrayed no kinsman. I suppose I have been hardly worse than the common run of young men, who have the means of leading an utterly useless life. I have lived selfishly, unthinkingly--caring for my own pleasure--with little thought of anything that was to come afterwards, either on earth or in heaven. But all that is past and done with. My wild oats are sown; I have had enough of youth and folly. When I came to Cornwall the other day I thought that I was on the threshold of middle age, and that middle age could give me nothing but a few years of pain and weariness. But--behold a miracle!--you have given me back my youth--youth and hope, and a desire for length of days, and a passionate yearning to lead a new, bright, stainless life. You have done all this, Christabel. I love you as I never thought it possible to love! I believe in you as I never before believed in woman--and yet--and yet----"