ime?" He stopped, casting about for the
way to begin. "I remember reading a story--Herbert Shaw wrote it, I
think. I want to tell you about it. There was a woman, young and
beautiful; a man magnificent, a lover of beauty and a wanderer. I don't
know how much like your Rex Strang he was, but I fancy a sort of
resemblance. Well, this man was a painter, a bohemian, a vagabond. He
kissed--oh, several times and for several weeks--and rode away. She
possessed for him what I thought you possessed for me ... at Lake
Geneva. In ten years she wept the beauty out of her face. Some women
turn yellow, you know, when grief upsets their natural juices.

"Now it happened that the man went blind, and ten years afterward, led
as a child by the hand, he stumbled back to her. There was nothing left.
He could no longer paint. And she was very happy, and glad he could not
see her face. Remember, he worshipped beauty. And he continued to hold
her in his arms and believe in her beauty. The memory of it was vivid in
him. He never ceased to talk about it, and to lament that he could not
behold it.

"One day he told her of five great pictures he wished to paint. If only
his sight could be restored to paint them, he could write _finis_ and be
content. And then, no matter how, there came into her hands an elixir.
Anointed on his eyes, the sight would surely and fully return."

Linday shrugged his shoulders.

"You see her struggle. With sight, he could paint his five pictures.
Also, he would leave her. Beauty was his religion. It was impossible
that he could abide her ruined face. Five days she struggled. Then she
anointed his eyes."

Linday broke off and searched her with his eyes, the high lights focused
sharply in the brilliant black.

"The question is, do you love Rex Strang as much as that?"

"And if I do?" she countered.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"You can sacrifice? You can give him up?"

Slow and reluctant was her "Yes."

"And you will come with me?"

"Yes." This time her voice was a whisper. "When he is well--yes."

"You understand. It must be Lake Geneva over again. You will be my
wife."

She seemed to shrink and droop, but her head nodded.

"Very well." He stood up briskly, went to his pack, and began
unstrapping. "I shall need help. Bring his brother in. Bring them all
in. Boiling water--let there be lots of it. I've brought bandages, but
let me see what you have in that line.--Here, Daw, build up that fire
and start boili