he gray _ennui_ of the rest of it, to remain with him
always (even, as it seemed now, in the very article of death) as a
reminder of the intolerable sweetness which life, under other
conditions, might have contained. And inexplicably, in the midst of
his desolation, his heart sang a sort of fierce paean: as a woman,
delivered of a man-child, goes triumphing to meet the sordidness of
death, so was there in Rainham's rapid acceptance of his fruitless
and ineffectual love a distinct sense of victory, in which pain
expired--victory over the meanness and triviality of modern life,
which could never seem quite mean and trivial again, since he had
proved it to be capable of such moments; had looked once--and could
so sing his "Nunc Dimittis"--upon the face of love. And it all
happened in a second, and in a further second--for his thought,
quickened by the emergency, still leapt forward with incredible
swiftness--a great audacity seized Philip Rainham, to save the
beloved woman pain. The devil would be at him later, would beset
him, harass him, madden him with hint and opportunity of profiting
by Lightmark's forfeiture. But the devil's turn was not yet; he was
filled only with his great and reverent love, his sublime pity for
the little tragical figure in front of him, whose house of painted
cards tumbled. Well! he might save it for her for a little
longer--at least, there was one desperate chance which he would try.

He had lived too long, unconsciously, in the habit of seeking her
happiness, that it should fail him now in her evil hour, in the
first flush of his new consciousness (ah, yes, there was beauty in
that, and victory!), for any base personal thought or animosity
against the man. He would have given her so easily his life; should
he grudge her his reputation? The reputation of a man with one foot
in the grave--what did it matter? And it all came about in a few
seconds.

Before any one of that strange company had found time to speak,
Rainham had grasped the situation, knew himself at last and the
others, and was prepared, scarcely counting the cost, with his
splendid lie. He made a step forward, then stopped suddenly, as if
he were bracing himself for a moral conflict. His face was very
white and rigid, his mouth set firmly; and the other three watched
him with a strange expectancy depicted on all their countenances,
amidst the various emotions proper to each of them; for he alone had
the air of being master of the