aring the warning to
Will.

The fascination of her self-abnegating thought held her, and she
drifted on to more personal details. She pictured his kind eyes, and
heard his deep, gentle voice telling her that he forgave her, that he
preferred to carry the warning rather than she should suffer. She felt
in her heart that this was what he would say, for she knew, as most
women know these things, that the old love of a year ago was still as
it was then. And the thought of it was sweet and comforting now in her
trouble.

She remained in her wondrously seductive dreamland while the minutes
crept on. And, as the dusky shadows of evening gathered, she sat
silent in her woman's dream of the man. It was gentle, soothing,
irresistible. It was the natural reaction after long hours of mental
struggle, when a merciful Providence brings relief to the suffering
mind, the saving sedative of a few restful moments in the realms of a
gentle dreaming of subconsciousness.

But perhaps this respite was something in the nature of an inversion
of the tempering of the wind. Perhaps a strange Providence was giving
her a few moments in which to strengthen herself for the blow that was
to follow so quickly. It is of small consequence, however. These
things pass in a lifetime almost unobserved. It is only on subsequent
reflection that they become apparent.

The darkness had closed down, and for once the usually brilliant
summer evening was clouded, and the twilight quickly lost. The woman's
introspective gaze was smiling, the drawn lines about her pretty
mouth, the shadows under her eyes seemed to have fallen from her. It
almost seemed as though the happiness of her dreams had entirely
banished the trouble that had so long weighed her down.

Then suddenly the latch of her door lifted with a rattle. She started
at once into perfect consciousness. At last. It was Peter Blunt come
with his ready help. She started to her feet, all her dream-castles
tumbling about her. The door was pushed roughly open, and Will, her
husband, came hurriedly in:

"You?"

Eve's exclamation was the last thing in horror, the last thing in
unconscious detestation. But his eyes held hers as one fascinated by
the eyes of some cruel reptile. Nor was it until he nodded his reply
that the spell was broken.

"Yes--and I guess you ain't too pleased."

There was a harsh sarcasm in his tone, which added to the steely
horror in the woman's heart. Now her eyes glanced swiftl