e no hope for me."

"I'll shoot him, if you like, without giving him a chance. The man
ought to be shot. He takes advantage of his own beastliness--" He broke
off. "If I talk about it I shall choke."

"But he doesn't know about you."

"You didn't tell him that?"

"I couldn't. I couldn't beg. I didn't want to say your name to him, to
bring you into it."

"Yes, I was left out of your calculations pretty thoroughly."

"Zebedee--!"

"Ah, but you expect me to take this very calmly. You keep your promise
to a drunken brute, but what of one to me?"

"There wasn't one between us two. We just belonged, as we do now and
always shall. You're me and I am you. When I was thinking of myself, I
was thinking of you, too. And all the time I thought you'd understand."

"I do--begin to understand. But what about Miriam? Little fool, little
fool! Does she know what she's done?"

"No one knows but you. You see, she fainted. I always thought she'd come
between us, but what queer things God does!"

His voice rose suddenly, saying, "Helen, it's unbearable. But you shall
not stay here. I shall take you away."

"There's Notya."

"Yes."

"Do you mean--Is she going to die?"

"I don't know. She may not live for long. And if she dies, you shall
come away with me. We can go together anywhere in the world. There's no
morality and no sense and no justice in such a sacrifice."

"Oh," she sighed, "what peace, if I could go with you!"

"You shall go with me."

She felt his heart ticking away the seconds. "But I can't," she said
softly. "You see, I've married him."

"Great God--!"

"I know. But I can't help it. I knew what I was doing. And he needs me."

"Ah! If he's going to need you--And again, what of my need of you?"

"You're a better man than he is."

He pushed her from him and went to the window, and she dared not ask him
for his thoughts. Perhaps he had none: perhaps, in the waste of snow
from which the black trunks of trees stood up, he saw a likeness to his
life.

He turned to ask, "How often does that beast get washed?"

She looked at him vaguely. "Who?"

"That dog."

"Oh--once a fortnight."

"Who does it?"

"John or I."

"You let him sleep with you?"

"Outside my door."

"I think he ought to be inside. I'm going over to see John. You can't
live here alone. And, Helen, I've not given up my right to you. You
shall come to me when Mrs. Caniper sets you free."

She was standing now, and she answered thro