uage. "She was like a butterfly that plays among the
flowers in the early morning. She had the look of a boy--the wide-open
eyes, the fearless way, the freedom, the daring. Her innocence--her
loveliness--" Something rose unexpectedly in his throat. He stopped and
swallowed hard. "My God! How lovely she was!" he said, in a strangled
voice.

Saltash got up in his sudden, elastic fashion. "Look here! You want a
drink. Sit down while I get you one!"

He was gone with the words, not waiting for the half-uttered remonstrance
that the other man sent after him.

Larpent stood staring heavily before him for a space, then turned with a
mechanical movement and dropped into a chair. He was sitting so, bent
forward, his hands clasped in front of him when Saltash returned. He had
the worn, grey look of a man tired out with hard travel.

Saltash poured out a drink and held it down to him. "Here's the stuff!
Drink, man! It'll put new life into you."

Larpent drank, still in that slow, mechanical fashion. But as he drained
the glass his eyes met Saltash's alert look and a faint, grim smile
crossed his haggard features.

"Don't let me spoil your holiday, my lord!" he said.

"Don't be a damn' fool!" said Saltash.

Larpent sat in silence for several seconds. Then in a more normal tone he
spoke again. "I had to come to her. God knows what made her want me after
all these years. But I couldn't refuse to come. I had her message two
days ago. She said she was alone--dying. So I came." He paused and wiped
his forehead. "I thought she had tricked me. You saw her as she was
to-night. She was like that--full of life, superb. But--I had come to
her, and I found I couldn't leave her. She wanted me--she wanted me--to
take her back." He got up, but not with any agitation, and began to pace
to and fro as though he paced a deck. "You will think me mad of course.
You never came under the spell. But I, I was first with her; and
perhaps it was fitting that I should be the last. Had she lived--after
to-night--I would have taken her away. She would never have danced again.
I would have taken her out of this damnable world that had dragged her
down. I'd have saved her somehow."

"You wouldn't," said Saltash. "It's like a recurrent fever. You'd never
have held her."

"I say I would." Larpent spoke deeply, but still without emotion. "I
could have done it--and no one else on earth. I tell you I was first with
her, and a woman doesn't forget the first