enceforth it can be
nothing to me. We disappear out of each other's lives for ever."

Mona made no reply; her face half averted, her lips compressed, her
beautiful form erect and rigid. Why was he so terribly strong, with a
strength of purpose that was almost appalling, demoniacal, scarcely
human in its unparalleled inflexibility? Why did he give no sign of
softness, of yielding? She had, as he said, involuntarily, though
half-unconsciously, shrunk from him. That was enough. Never again
would she see those eyes gladden to the light of hers, never again hear
the love tone of that voice. And yet, amid the awful agony of her loss
and its realisation, there was still room for that same feeling of
shrinking as from the perpetrator of a hideous and sordid crime; and
like the mocking whoop of demons in her ears came that cutting,
stinging, gibing refrain--the echo of his words, spoken there:--

"Nothing lasts! Nothing lasts!"

She had reached that point where mental anguish becomes physical pain,
without in any way losing itself therein. Her brain seemed bursting,
her heart refusing to beat. The climax came. She sank down in swooning
unconsciousness.

Even then that human being turned to iron repressed the step which he
had made towards her--repressed it with a shiver, but still repressed
it. Not his the right to touch her--he from whom she had shrunk as from
a murderer and midnight robber. Then another thought struck him.

"Yes, it is better so," he muttered, stepping to the side of the
unconscious form, its nobly moulded lines as beautiful as ever in
insensibility. "It is better so. Looked at thus for the last time, I
can think of her ever as though I had looked upon her in death."

Then he struggled with himself, fought to restrain the overmastering
impulse, for the last time to bend down and press his lips long and hard
to her unconscious ones--fought, and conquered, and refrained.

"It would be a murderer's kiss," he muttered, between his teeth. Then
turning, he lifted up his voice and sent forth a long, loud call.

"Miss Ridsdale has fainted, Suffield," he said, as the latter came
running up. "You had better get her taken to the house. Good-bye,
Suffield!"

"Stop, Musgrave, stop!" cried Suffield, who was now supporting Mona's
head. "Don't go away like that, man. Hang it! after all this time, you
know."

"I won't shake hands with you, Suffield," answered Roden without
pausing, as he was wal