e shadows--the sentinels with drawn swords--came back to her. The
swords flashed, cleaving the dividing line afresh before her eyes.

Slowly she leaned away from his breast, her face suddenly drawn and
tortured.

"Peter, I must go back--"

"Back? To Trenby?" Then, savagely: "You can't. I want you!"

He stooped his head and she felt his mouth on hers.

A glimmer of pale firelight searched out the two tense faces; the
shadowy room seemed listening, waiting--waiting--

"I want you!" he reiterated hoarsely. "I can't live without you any
longer. Nan . . . come with me . . ."

A tremulous flicker of lightning shivered across the darkness. The
dead electric burners leaped into golden globes of light once more, and
in the garish, shattering glare the man and woman sprang apart and
stood staring at each other, trembling, with passion-stricken
faces. . . .

The long silence was broken at last, broken by a little inarticulate
sound--half-sigh, half-sob--from Nan.

Peter raised his head and looked at her. His face was grey.

"God!" he muttered. "Where were we going?"

He stumbled to the chimneypiece, and, leaning his arms on it, buried
his face against them.

Presently she spoke to him, timidly.

"Peter?" she said. "Peter?"

At the sound of her voice he turned towards her, and the look in his
eyes hurt her like a physical blow.

"Oh, my dear . . . my dear!" she cried, trembling towards him. "Don't
look like that . . . Ah! don't look like that!"

And her hands went fluttering out in the mother-yearning that every
woman feels for her man in trouble.

"Forgive me, Nan . . . I'm sorry."

She hardly recognised the low, toneless voice.

Her eyes were shining. "Sorry for loving me?" she said.

"No--not for loving you. God knows, I can't help that! But because I
would have taken you and made you mine . . . you who are not mine at
all."

"I'm all yours, really, Peter."

She came a few steps nearer to him, standing sweet and unafraid before
him, her grave eyes shining with a kind of radiance.

"Dear," she went on simply, throwing out her hands in a little
defenceless gesture, "if you want me, I'll come to you. . . . Not--not
secretly . . . while I'm still pledged to Roger. But openly, before
all the world. I'll go with you . . . if you'll take me."

She stood very still, waiting for his answer. Right or wrong, in that
moment of utter sacrifice of self, she had risen to the best that was
in