shut eyes.

"What was it?" he said. "Where did it come from?"

"It came," said Mrs. Dysart, "from somewhere deep down in her heart,
a part of her that had only one chance to show itself." She rose and
delivered herself of all her fire. "There was something in Freda
infinitely greater, infinitely more beautiful, than her gift. It
showed itself only once in her life. When it couldn't show itself
any more the gift left her. We can't account for it."

He followed her to the door. She pressed his hand as she said
good-bye to him, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"I told you," she said, "to do all you could for her. She knew that
you had done--all you could."

He bowed his head to her rebuke.

VII

Upstairs Julia was waiting for him. Her pale face turned to him as
he came in.

He saw a hunger in it that was not of the soul.

He had never been greatly interested in Julia's soul, and till now
her face had told him nothing of it. It had clipped it tight, like
the covers of a narrow book. He had never cared to open it. Freda's
soul was like an illuminated missal, treasured under transparence;
its divine secret flamed, unafraid, in scarlet and gold.

He did not take his seat beside her, but stood off from her, distant
and uneasy. She rose and laid her hand upon his arm, and he drew
back from her touch.

"Wilton," she said, "you are not going to let this trouble you?"

"What's the good of talking? It won't undo what we did."

"What _we_ did?"

"I, then."

"What else could you do?"

He did not answer, and she murmured, "Or I? I was right. She _was_
in love with you."

He turned on her.

"I wish," he said, "you had never told me."

THE FAULT

I

Gibson used to say that he would never marry, because no other woman
could be half as nice as his own mother. Then, of course, he broke
his mother's heart by marrying a woman who was not nice at all.

He was a powerful fellow with a plain, square face, and a manner
that was perfection to the people whom he liked. Unfortunately they
were very few. He did not like any of the ladies whom his mother
wanted him to like, not even when they reproduced for him her
gentle, delicate distinction.

The younger Mrs. Gibson had none of it. But she had ways with her,
and a power that was said to reside supremely in her hands, her
arms, and her hair. Especially her hair (she was the large white and
golden kind). It was long as a lasso and ample as a cl