bad day, a day which left an
ineffaceable mark.

With night came the first sign of peace, or rather of capitulation. He
fought no more because he realised that there was nothing for which to
fight. There had never been, from the very first moment, a possibility
of escape, the smallest ray of hope. Fate had met him squarely and the
issue had never been in doubt.

It was a "wonderful clear night of stars" when, having circled the town
in his aimless wandering, he found himself opposite the schoolhouse gate
and calm enough to allow his thoughts to dwell definitely upon Esther.
She, at least, was safe, and the knowledge brought pure thankfulness.
Not for anything in the world would he have had her entangled in this
tragic coil. Leaning over the gate he saw the school steps, faintly
white in the starlight. It needed small effort of imagination to see her
there as he had seen her that first day--a happy girl, looking at him
with the long, straight glance of unawakened youth. A great wave of
protecting love went out to meet that vision. Self was lost in its
immensity. As he had found her, so, please God, she was still and so he
would leave her.

Then, somewhere in the back of his brain, a question sprang to vivid
life. Was she the same? He knew that all day he had been fighting back
that question. Last night something had frightened him--something
glimpsed for a moment in Esther's face when she had come in from the
garden to say good-night. Fancy, perhaps, or a trick of the lamplight.
She could not really have changed. He would not allow himself even to
dream that she had changed.

By this time she would know about himself and Mary--know all that any
one was to know. He had insisted upon that. Mary had promised to tell
her to-day that they were to be married soon. Next time he saw her she
would look upon him with different eyes; eyes which would see not her
sometime friend and companion but her step-mother's future husband. He
must steel himself for this. Probably she would laugh a little. He hoped
she would laugh. Last night she had looked so--she had not looked like
laughter. If she should laugh it would answer the last doubt in his
heart. He would know that she was free.

Presently he felt himself to be unbearably weary. Physical needs,
ignored all day, began to clamour. He must get home at once. No _outre_
proceedings must raise the easy breath of gossip. He must not flinch, he
dared not run away, all must be done de