wing ache for her, what of hers? And she was so young. His life, at
all events, was a free one; but hers tied to Josiah Brown! And this
thought drove him to madness. She belonged to Josiah Brown--not to him
whom she loved--but to Josiah Brown, plebeian and middle-aged and
exacting. He knew now that he ought to have gone away at once, the next
day after they had met. His whole course of conduct had been weak and
absolutely self-indulgent and wicked.

Who was he to dare to have raised his eyes to this angel, and try to
scorch even the hem of her clothing! And now he had only brought
suffering upon her and dimmed the light in God's two stars, which were
her eyes.

And then wild passion shook him, and he could only live again the divine
moments when she had nestled unresisting in his arms. Would it have made
things better or worse if he had not yielded to the temptation of that
hour of night and solitude?

After all, the sin was in making her love him, not in just holding her
and kissing her lips. And at least, at least, they would have that
exquisite memory of moments of unutterable bliss to keep for the rest of
their lives.

His windows were wide open, and he leaned upon the balcony and gazed out
at the moon. What good had all his life been? What benefit had he
brought to any one? Then he seemed to see a clear vision of Theodora's
short existence. Every picture she had unconsciously shown him was of
some gentle thought of unselfishness for others.

And now he had laid a burden upon her shoulders, when he would not hurt
a hair of her head--that dear, exquisite head which had lain upon his
breast only two hours ago, and could never lie there again. He knew this
was the end.

Then anguish and remorse seized him, and he buried his face on his
crossed arms.

And Theodora staggered up to her room like one half dead. Mercifully
Josiah Brown, had gone to bed, leaving a message with Henriette,
Theodora's maid, that on no account was she to make any noise or disturb
him.

Henriette adored her mistress--as who did not who served her?--and she
felt distressed to see madame so pale. Doubtless madame had had a most
tiring day. Madame had, and was thankful when at last she was left alone
with her thoughts. Then she, too, opened wide the windows and gazed at
the moon.

She had no cause for remorse for evil conduct like Hector. She had made
no plans for the entrapping of any soul, and yet she felt forlorn and
wicked. Oh yes,