ager notwithstanding his long walk. The splendid
egoism of youth had already triumphed, the tragedy of the day had
become a dim thing. He himself was moving forward and onward. He
glanced up at the familiar window, feeling a slight impulse of
disappointment when he received no welcoming wave of the hand. It
was the first time for weeks that Ruth had not been there. He
climbed the five flights of stone stairs, still buoyant and
light-hearted. Glancing into his own room, he found it empty, then
crossed at once the passageway and knocked at Ruth's door. She was
lying back in her chair, with her back toward the window.

"Why, Ruth," he exclaimed, "how dare you desert your post!"

He felt at once that there was something strange in her reception of
him. She stopped him as he came across the room, holding out both
her hands. Her wan face was strained as she gazed and gazed.
Something of the beautiful softness of her features had passed for
the moment. She was so anxious, so terrified lest she should
misread what was written in his face.

"Arnold!" she murmured. "Oh, Arnold!"

He was a little startled. It was as though tragedy had been let
loose in the room.

"Why do you look at me like that, dear?" he cried. "Is there
anything so terrible to tell me? What have I done?"

"God knows!" she answered. "Don't come any nearer for a moment. I
want to look at you."

She was leaning out from her chair. It was true, indeed, that at
that moment some sort of fear had drained all the beauty from her
face, though her eyes shone still like fierce stars.

"You have gone, Arnold," she moaned. "You have slipped away. You are
lost to me."

"You foolish person!" he exclaimed, stepping towards her. "Never in
my life! Never!"

She laid her hand upon the stick which leaned against her chair.

"Not yet," she implored. "Don't come to me yet. Stay there where I
can see your face. Now tell me--tell me everything."

He laughed, not altogether easily, with a note half of resentment,
half of protest.

"Dear Ruth," he pleaded, "what have I done to deserve this? Nothing
has happened to me that I will not tell you about. You have been
sitting here alone, fancying things. And I have news--great news!
Wait till you hear it."

"Go on," she said, simply. "Tell me everything. Begin at last
night."

He drew a little breath. It was, after all, a hard task, this, that
lay before him. Last night in his mind lay far enough back now, a
tangled web