Again and again he apostrophized himself as follows: "My G.o.d, what am I coming to? Is this madness? Am I as George Tresslyn was, am I no n.o.bler than he? Or was he n.o.ble in spite of himself, and am I n.o.ble in the same sense? If I am mad with love, if I am weak and accursed by consequences, why should not she be weaker than I? She is a woman. I am-or was-a man.

Why should I sink to such a state as this and she remain brave and strong and resolute? She keeps away from me, why should I not stay away from her?

G.o.d knows I have tried to resist this thing that she resists, and what have I come to? A street loafer, a spy, a sneak, a dog without a master.

She is doing a big thing, and I am doing the smallest thing that man can do. She loves me and longs for me and-Oh, what d.a.m.ned madness is it that brings me to loving her and longing for her and yet makes of me a thing so much less worthy than she?" And so on by the hour, day and night, he cursed himself with questions.

The end came swiftly, resistlessly. She paused at the bottom of the steps as the automobile slid off into the chill, windy night. For the first time in all his vigil, he noted the absence of the footman who always ran up the steps ahead of her to open the door. She was alone to-night. This had never happened before. Mystified, he saw her slowly ascend the steps and pause before the door. Her body drooped wearily. He waited long for her to press the electric b.u.t.ton which had taken the place of the ancient k.n.o.b that jangled the bell at the far end of the hall. But she remained motionless for what seemed to him an interminable time, and then, to his consternation, she leaned against the door and covered her face with her hands.

A great weight suddenly was lifted from his soul; a vast exaltation drove out everything that had been oppressing him for so long. He was free! He was free of the thing that had been driving him to death. Joy, so overwhelming in its rush that he almost collapsed as it a.s.sailed him, swept aside every vestige of resistance,-and, paradox of paradoxes,-made a man of him! He was a man and he would-But even as his jaw set and his body straightened in its old, dominant strength, she opened the door and pa.s.sed into the dim hall beyond.

He was half across the street when the door closed behind her, but he did not pause. His hand came from his pocket and in his rigid fingers he held the key to his home-and hers.

At the bottom of the steps he halted. The lights in the drawing-room had been switched on. The purpose that filled him now was so great that he waited long there, grasping the hand rail, striving to temper his new- found strength to the gentleness that was in his heart. The fight was over, and he had won-the man of him had won. She was in that room where the lights were,-waiting for him. The moment was not far off when she would be in his arms. He was suffocating with the thought of the nearness of it all!

He mounted the steps. As he came to the top, the door was opened and Anne stood there in the warm light of the hall,-a slender, swaying figure in something rose-coloured and-and her lips were parted in a wondering, enchanted smile. She held out her arms to him.

THE END