are a great many things,
Dysart."

The other looked up: "You?"

"I--don't know. Yes, in many ways; in that way at all events--if you
made her happy."

Dysart stepped forward: "Would you be nice to her if I did? No other
soul in the world knows except you. Other people would be nice to her.
Would _you_? And would you have the woman you marry receive her?"

"Yes."

"That is square of you, Mallett.... I meant to do it, anyway.... Thank
you.... Good-night."

"Good-night," said Duane in a low voice.

He returned to the house late that night, and found a letter from
Geraldine awaiting him; the first in three days. Seated at the library
table he opened the letter and saw at once that the red-pencilled cross
at the top was missing.

Minutes passed; the first line blurred under his vacant gaze, for his
eyes travelled no farther. Then the letter fell to the table; he dropped
his head in his arms.

It was a curiously calm letter when he found courage to read it:

"I've lost a battle after many victories. It went against me after a
hard fight here alone at Roya-Neh. I think you had better come up.
The fight was on again the next night--that is, night before last,
but I've held fast so far and expect to. Only I wish you'd come.

"It is no reproach to you if I say that, had you been here, I might
have made a better fight. You couldn't be here; the shame of defeat
is all my own.

"Duane, it was not a disastrous defeat in one way. I held out for
four days, and thought I had won out. I was stupefied by loss of
sleep, I think; this is not in excuse, only the facts which I lay
bare for your consideration.

"The defeat was in a way a concession--a half-dazed
compromise--merely a parody on a real victory for the enemy; because
it roused in me a horror that left the enemy almost no consolation,
no comfort, even no physical relief. The enemy is I myself, you
understand--that other self we know about.

"She was perfectly furious, Duane; she wrestled with me, fought to
make me yield more than I had--which was almost nothing--begged me,
brutalised me, pleaded, tormented, cajoled. I was nearly dead when
the sun rose; but I had gone through it.

"I wish you could come. She is still watching me. It's an armed
truce, but I know she'll break it if the chance comes. There is no
honour in her, Duane, no faith, no reason, no mercy. I know her.