me in raving delirium. I can't describe that to
you. I don't want you to know what it was like. I nursed him through it,
but it was terrible. He did not always know what he was doing. At times
he was violent."

A drop of blood suddenly ran down Piers' chin; he pulled out his
handkerchief sharply and wiped it away, still reading on.

"He got over it, but it broke him. He knew--we both knew--that things
were hopeless. We tried for a time to shut our eyes to the fact, but it
remained. And then one day very suddenly he roused himself and told me
that he had heard of a job up-country and was going to it. I could not
stop him. I could not even go with him. And so--for the first time since
our marriage--we parted. He promised to come back to me for the birth of
our child. But before that happened he was dead, killed in a drunken
brawl. It was just what I had always feared--the tragedy that overhung us
from the beginning. Piers, that's all. I've told it very badly. But I
felt you must know how my romance died; and how impossible it is that I
should ever have another. It didn't break my heart. It wasn't sudden
enough for that. And now that he is gone, I can see it is best. But the
manner of his going--that was the dreadful part. I told you about my baby
girl, how she was born blind, and how five years ago she died.

"So now you know my little tragic history from beginning to end. There is
no accounting for love. We follow our instincts, I suppose. But it leads
us sometimes along paths that we could never bear to travel twice. Is
there any pain, I wonder, like the pain of disillusionment, of seeing the
beloved idol lying in the dust? This is a selfish point of view, I know;
but I want you to realize that you have made a mistake. Dear Piers, I am
very, very sorry it has happened. No, not angry at all; somehow I can't
be angry. It's such a difficult world to live in, and there are so many
influences at work. But you must forget this wish of yours
indeed--indeed. I am too old, too experienced, too worldly-wise, too
prosaic for you in every way. You must marry a girl who has never loved
before. You must have the first and best of a woman's heart. You must
have 'The True Romance.'

"That, Piers, will always be the wish and prayer of

"Your loving friend,

"AVERY."

Piers' hands were steady enough now. There was something slow and
fatalistic in the way they folded the letter. He looked up from it at
length with dark eyes that g