had come. Like the ebb
and flow of the waves, excitement had followed apathy; and, as she had
met his eyes, the wave had risen again and swept her away upon its
tossing crest. Thayer was here at last. He never forgot her, never
forsook her. He had come to her in this moment of her bitterest need,
even as he had come to her many a time in the past. With him, there
could be no need for explanation or preface. Straight from the heart of
her reverie, Beatrix Lorimer had cast her words at him,--

"It has all been a hideous mistake!"

And now she was following them up with the question which, in Thayer's
ears, sounded the dominant note of the temptation that had been pursuing
him during all those months of rigid self-restraint,--

"The black, blank years, how can I escape them?"

For the second time in his life, Thayer grew dizzy with the tingle of
his nerves answering to the shock to his brain. The blood was pounding
across his temples, and his ears rang loudly. Then he lifted his eyes
deliberately and looked Beatrix full in the face. For an instant, he
held her eyes; then she drew away from him. This was not the quiet,
self-contained man upon whom she had leaned for months. This man's eyes
were glowing, his lips quivering, his hands outstretched to meet her
own. No need to tell her what flame had kindled him into such fierce and
burning life. Their eyes met. She drew away; but her glance never
wavered. Without a spoken word, they had come to the pitiless, naked
truth. Wish had answered to wish, and henceforth there could be no
concealments between them. She took a step forward, and for a moment her
fingers rested in the hot hollow of his hand.

It was only for a moment. However, for Thayer that moment had sufficed
to review a lifetime, to dwell in detail, even, upon the events of the
last fourteen months. In the past, he had done his best to bear himself
as an honest man and a gentleman; and, seen in the light of that past,
the future turned to ashes before him. At best, it was void of honor; at
worst, it was unthinkable. It had not been easy for him to swim against
the tide, to strive, at the expense of his own plans, to rescue Lorimer
from drunkenness and shame. At least, now that for so long a time he had
succeeded in keeping his head above water, he would not wilfully cast
himself upon the first jagged rock in his course. He would not save
Lorimer's honor for the sake of Lorimer's wife, and then deliberately
seek