was drawing towards midnight, and all but herself had retired. She
knew she ought to bolt the window and go to rest also; only she knew,
too, that no rest awaited her. The silver peace into which she gazed was
like balm to her tired spirit, but yet she could only stand, as it were,
upon the edge.

A great longing was upon her, a voiceless, indescribable desire, that
made within her so deep a restlessness that no outside influence seemed
able to touch it. She leaned her head against the window-frame, conscious
of suffering but scarcely aware of thought.

With no effort of hers the events of that afternoon passed before her.
She heard again the ardent voice of the friend who had become the lover.
He had loved her from the first, it seemed, and she had not known it.
Could it be that she had loved him also, all unknowing?

There came again to her the memory of those fierce, compelling eyes, the
dogged mastery with which he had fought her resolution, the sudden magic
softening of the harsh face when he smiled. There came again the
passionate thrilling of his voice; again her hands tingled in that close
grip; again she thought she felt the beating of the savage heart.

She raised her arms above her head with the gesture of one who wards off
something immense, but they fell almost immediately. She was so tired--so
tired. She had fought so hard and so long. Oh, why was there no peace for
her? What had she done to be thus tortured? Why had love come to her at
all? In all her barren life she had never asked for love.

And now that it had come it was only to be ruthlessly dashed against the
stones. What had she to do with love--love, moreover, for a man who could
offer her but the fiery passion of a savage, a man from whom her every
instinct shrank, who mocked at holy things and overthrew all barriers of
convention with a cynicism that silenced all protest. What--ah, what
indeed!--had she to do with love?

She had lived a pure life. She had put out the fires of youth long ago,
with no hesitating hand. She had dwelt in the desert, and made of it her
home. Was it her fault that those fires had been kindled afresh? Was she
to blame because the desert had suddenly blossomed? Could she be held
responsible for these things, she who had walked in blindness till the
transforming miracle had touched her also and opened her eyes?

She shivered a little. Oh, for a helping hand! Oh, for a deliverer from
this maze of misery!

She saw a