been working in darkness
until--now! I should have trusted more--you must learn from me.

"There, do not keep the man waiting longer. I wonder--do not do it
unless you want to, or think it right--but I wonder if you could kiss me
good-bye?"

Lynda rose and, tear-blinded, bent over and kissed him--kissed him
twice, once for her mother!--and she felt that he understood. She had
never touched her lips to his before, and it seemed a strange ceremony.

An hour later Truedale called for Thomas and was wheeled to his bedroom
and helped to bed.

"Perhaps," he said to the man, "you had better put those drops on the
stand. If I cannot sleep--" Thomas smiled and obeyed. There had been a
time when he feared that small, dark bottle, but not now! He believed
too sincerely in his master's strength of character. Having the medicine
near might, by suggestion, help calm the restlessness, but it had never
been resorted to, so Thomas smiled as he turned away with a cheery:

"Very well, sir; but there will be no need, I hope."

"Good-night, Thomas. Raise the shade, please. It's a splendid night,
isn't it? If they should build on that rear lot I could not see the moon
so well. I may decide to buy that property."

When Thomas had gone and he was alone at last, Truedale heaved a heavy
sigh. It seemed to relieve the restraint under which he had been
labouring for weeks.

All his life the possibility of escape from his bondage had made the
bondage less unendurable. It was like knowing of a secret passage from
his prison house--an exit dark and attended by doubts and fears, but
nevertheless a sure passage to freedom. It had seemed, in the past, a
cowardly thing to avail himself of his knowledge--it was like going
with his debts unpaid. But now, in the bright, moonlit room it no
longer appeared so. He had finished his task, had ended the bungling,
and had heard a clear call ringing with commendation and approval. There
was nothing to hold him back!

Over in the cabinet by the window were a photograph and a few letters;
Truedale turned toward them and wondered if Lynda, instead of his old
friend McPherson, would find them? He wished he had spoken--but after
all, he could not wait. He had definitely decided to take the journey!
But he spoke softly as if to a Presence:

"And so--you played a part? Poor girl! how well--you played it! And
you--suffered--oh! my God--and I never did you the justice of
understanding. And you left your girl--t