is horrible; and there I shall stand for the
world to gaze at as long as the canvas lasts and as long as people look
at any pictures. There _I_ shall be, gibbeted in that woman's smile! No,
I have not done! There will be no escape possible. Somewhere--I shall
always feel it like a hot iron searing me--somewhere that other I will
be all my life long, and when I am dead, and for centuries perhaps, she
will smile on, and my image will be looked at as a type of vice! I see
it now," and with a sort of grandeur of revelation she turned upon
Manon, "I see that it is a masterpiece!"

I placed myself between her and it.

"Miss Jones," I said, "this is rather a supreme moment for me, more
supreme than you will ever understand. I forgot you for my picture; I
will not forget my picture for you." The icy fire of her eyes followed
me while I went to the table and took up a sharp, long dagger which lay
beside the little packet of money. I returned to the picture and, giving
it one long look, I ripped the canvas from top to bottom. Miss Jones
made neither sound nor sign. With dogged despair I pierced the smiling
face, I hacked and rent the exquisite thing. The rose-coloured tatters
fell forward; in five minutes "Manon Lescaut" was dead, utterly
annihilated, and Miss Jones surveyed the place where she had been. I
turned to her, and I have no doubt that my face expressed my exultant
misery.

"And now!" I exclaimed.

"Now," said Miss Jones, looking solemnly at me, "you have done right,
you have done _nobly_, and you will be the happier for it."

"Shall I?" I said, approaching her. "Shall I?"

"Yes. I can confidently say it. That bad thing would have poisoned your
life as it would have poisoned mine." I ignored the misstatement.

"Miss Jones," I said, "for your sake I have destroyed the best thing in
my life; may I hope for a better? I love you."

Her pale and beautiful face looked very little less calm, but certainly
a little dismayed, certainly a little sorry.

"The best thing has been this act of sacrifice," she said; "don't spoil
that by any weak regret. You have gained my admiration and my respect;
but for better things, if better there are, I accepted Mr. Carrington
last night."

* * * * *

Perhaps I don't regret. Though she was a prig, I had loved her in the
half hour's exaltation. I am certainly not sorry that she married
Carrington. They seem to be very happy. But the chivalrous moment