the shadow.

"What is it to me?"--in the same measured voice.

Holmes wiped the cold drops from his forehead, a sort of shudder in his
powerful frame. He stood a moment looking into the fire, his head
dropped on his arm.

"Let it be so," he said at last, quietly. "The worn old heart can gnaw
on itself a little longer. I have no mind to whimper over pain."

Something that she saw on the dark sardonic face, as the red gleams
lighted it, made her start convulsively, as if she would go to him;
then controlling herself, she stood silent. He had not seen the
movement,--or, if he saw, did not heed it. He did not care to tame her
now. The firelight flashed and darkened, the crackling wood breaking
the dead silence of the room.

"It does not matter," he said, raising his head, laying his arm over
his strong chest unconsciously, as if to shut in all complaint. "I had
an idle fancy that it would be good on this Christmas night to bare the
secrets hidden in here to you,--to suffer your pure eyes to probe the
sorest depths: I thought perhaps they would have a blessing power. It
was an idle fancy. What is my want or crime to you?"

The answer came slowly, but it did come.

"Nothing to me."

She tried to meet the gaunt face looking down on her with its proud
sadness,--did meet it at last with her meek eyes.

"No, nothing to you. There is no need that I should stay longer, is
there? You made ready to meet me, and have gone through your part
well."

"It is no part. I speak God's truth to you as I can."

"I know. There is nothing more for us to say to each other in this
world, then, except good-night. Words--polite words--are bitterer than
death, sometimes. If ever we happen to meet, that courteous smile on
your face will be enough to speak--God's truth for you. Shall we say
good-night now?"

"If you will."

She drew farther into the shadow, leaning on a chair.

He stopped, some sudden thought striking him.

"I have a whim," he said, dreamily, "that I would like to satisfy. It
would be a trifle to you: will you grant it?--for the sake of some old
happy day, long ago?"

She put her hand up to her throat; then it fell again.

"Anything you wish, Stephen," she said, gravely.

"Yes. Come nearer, then, and let me see what I have lost. A heart so
cold and strong as yours need not fear inspection. I have a fancy to
look into it, for the last time."

She stood motionless and silent.

"Come,"--softly