at her heart was kind toward me in spite of all that I imagined
had happened. I even thought it possible that I might have misinterpreted
what I had seen. Perhaps she would explain everything. My revolver
was in my pocket for all that.

I limped at the outset, but after the second mile my ankle warmed
to forgetfulness, and the rest of the way I walked well. Suppose,
after all, I was wrong?

I was still debating that, as I came through the park. By the corner
of the paddock near the keeper's cottage, I was reminded by some
belated blue hyacinths of a time when I and Nettie had gathered
them together. It seemed impossible that we could really have parted
ourselves for good and all. A wave of tenderness flowed over me,
and still flooded me as I came through the little dell and drew
towards the hollies. But there the sweet Nettie of my boy's love
faded, and I thought of the new Nettie of desire and the man I had
come upon in the moonlight, I thought of the narrow, hot purpose
that had grown so strongly out of my springtime freshness, and my
mood darkened to night.

I crossed the beech wood and came towards the gardens with a resolute
and sorrowful heart. When I reached the green door in the garden
wall I was seized for a space with so violent a trembling that I
could not grip the latch to lift it, for I no longer had any doubt
how this would end. That trembling was succeeded by a feeling
of cold, and whiteness, and self-pity. I was astonished to find
myself grimacing, to feel my cheeks wet, and thereupon I gave way
completely to a wild passion of weeping. I must take just a little
time before the thing was done. . . . I turned away from the door
and stumbled for a little distance, sobbing loudly, and lay down
out of sight among the bracken, and so presently became calm again.
I lay there some time. I had half a mind to desist, and then my
emotion passed like the shadow of a cloud, and I walked very coolly
into the gardens.

Through the open door of one of the glass houses I saw old Stuart.
He was leaning against the staging, his hands in his pockets, and
so deep in thought he gave no heed to me.

I hesitated and went on towards the cottage, slowly.

Something struck me as unusual about the place, but I could not
tell at first what it was. One of the bedroom windows was open,
and the customary short blind, with its brass upper rail partly
unfastened, drooped obliquely across the vacant space. It looked
negligent and