and pressing her face, her eyes to the opening. She
was faint for a moment and could see nothing; there was a mist before
her eyes and the smoke filled the room; then gradually, out of the
mist, she saw a grey-haired man with his back to the curtain, and he
was bending forward with a coffee cup to his lips. Beside him, facing
her, leaning far back in his chair, with his cigar poised and his eyes
half closed, his dark head pressing restlessly against the cushion was--

"Oh, my God!" she breathed, "My God, it is Velasco!"

For a moment she thought she had screamed; and she covered her eyes
waiting, sick, frightened, her heart throbbing. Then she forgot where
she was and thought only of him, and a strange little thrill went over
her; she shivered slightly, and it seemed to her as if already she was
in his arms; and when she heard his voice, it was calling to her,
crying her name.

"Yes--yes, it is Kaya!--I am here!" she was saying, "Come to
me--Velasco! Velasco!"

Already she was stumbling into his arms; she was clinging to him--and
then she awoke. Her brain cleared suddenly and she knew that she had
not moved; no sound had come from her lips. She was standing like a
statue, dumb, with her hands clasped, gazing; and Velasco lay back in
his chair with his eyes half closed, blowing a wreath from his cigar,
watching it idly as it floated away, listening as the harsh voice of
his host talked on--not five feet away! If she stretched out her hand,
if she sighed--or moved the curtain--Ah!

She struggled with herself. She was faint; she was weak with hunger;
she was alone and desolate--and he loved her. She fought madly,
desperately. It was as if two creatures were within her fighting for
life; and they both loved him.

When the one grew stronger, her eyes brightened and her pulses
quickened; it was as if she would leap through the curtain, and her
heart was sick for the touch of his hand. Then she beat down the
longing and stifled it, and the other self came to the front and
gripped her scornfully, pointing to her hands with the blood on them,
her soul with its curse. Was her life to mingle with his and ruin it,
and bring it to shame?

"Never," she breathed, "Never! So long as I live!" And the self of
her that loved him the most crushed the other self and smothered
it--strangled it.

She gazed at him through the curtain, and it seemed to her that
something within her was gasping and dying. And suddenly s