s teeth hard set, he dropped the first page of _Romilly_ into the
fire. Then he began to drop the rest in, sheet by sheet.

For many minutes the calling behind his door continued; then suddenly it
ceased. He heard the sound of feet slowly descending the stairs. He
listened for the noise of a fall or a cry or the crash of a piece of the
handrail of the upper landing; but none of these things came. She was
spared. Apparently her rival suffered her to crawl abject and beaten
away. Oleron heard the passing of her steps under his window; then she
was gone.

He dropped the last page into the fire, and then, with a low laugh rose.
He looked fondly round his room.

"Lucky to get away like that," he remarked. "She wouldn't have got away
if I'd given her as much as a word or a look! What devils these women
are!... But no; I oughtn't to say that; one of 'em showed
forbearance...."

Who showed forbearance? And what was forborne? Ah, Oleron
knew!... Contempt, no doubt, had been at the bottom of it, but that
didn't matter: the pestering creature had been allowed to go unharmed.
Yes, she was lucky; Oleron hoped she knew it....

And now, now, now for his reward!

Oleron crossed the room. All his doors were open; his eyes shone as he
placed himself within that of his bedroom.

Fool that he had been, not to think of destroying the manuscript
sooner!...

* * * * *

How, in a houseful of shadows, should he know his own Shadow? How, in a
houseful of noises, distinguish the summons he felt to be at hand? Ah,
trust him! He would know! The place was full of a jugglery of dim lights.
The blind at his elbow that allowed the light of a street lamp to
struggle vaguely through--the glimpse of greeny blue moonlight seen
through the distant kitchen door--the sulky glow of the fire under the
black ashes of the burnt manuscript--the glimmering of the tulips and the
moon-daisies and narcissi in the bowls and jugs and jars--these did not
so trick and bewilder his eyes that he would not know his Own! It was he,
not she, who had been delaying the shadowy Bridal; he hung his head for a
moment in mute acknowledgment; then he bent his eyes on the deceiving,
puzzling gloom again. He would have called her name had he known it--but
now he would not ask her to share even a name with the other....

His own face, within the frame of the door, glimmered white as the
narcissi in the darkness....

A shadow, light as fleece,