im up. I have told him I have ceased to care for him,
and that it is better we should both be free. It is best that way. He
would have had to ask me to release him, and that would have given him
pain. He was always gentle. Now he will be able to marry her with an
easy conscience, and he need never know what I have suffered. She is
more fitted for him than I am. I hope he will be happy. I think I
have done the right thing."

A few lines follow, left blank, and then the writing is resumed, but in a
stronger, more vehement hand.

"Why do I lie to myself? I hate her! I would kill her if I could. I
hope she will make him wretched, and that he will come to hate her as
I do, and that she will die! Why did I let them persuade me to send
that lying letter? He will show it to her, and she will see through
it and laugh at me. I could have held him to his promise; he could
not have got out of it.

"What do I care about dignity, and womanliness, and right, and all the
rest of the canting words! I want him. I want his kisses and his
arms about me. He is mine! He loved me once! I have only given him
up because I thought it a fine thing to play the saint. It is only an
acted lie. I would rather be evil, and he loved me. Why do I deceive
myself? I want him. I care for nothing else at the bottom of my
heart--his love, his kisses!"

And towards the end. "My God, what am I saying? Have I no shame, no
strength? O God, help me!"

* * * * *

And there the diary closes.

I looked among the letters lying between the pages of the book. Most of
them were signed simply "Chris." or "Christopher." But one gave his name
in full, and it was a name I know well as that of a famous man, whose
hand I have often shaken. I thought of his hard-featured, handsome wife,
and of his great chill place, half house, half exhibition, in Kensington,
filled constantly with its smart, chattering set, among whom he seemed
always to be the uninvited guest; of his weary face and bitter tongue.
And thinking thus there rose up before me the sweet, sad face of the
woman of the miniature, and, meeting her eyes as she smiled at me from
out of the shadows, I looked at her my wonder.

I took the miniature from its shelf. There would be no harm now in
learning her name. So I stood with it in my hand till a little later my
landlady entered to lay the cloth.

"I tumbled this out of y