nor that he was
about to shake the money market of New York, prevented him from
regarding himself critically in the mirror to see if he showed
suffering, nor from changing his neck-scarf to one of gallant red.

Underneath the bitterness of his heart lay a desire to square accounts
with Marix. But it was part of his nature to excuse the weak, and on the
way down to Wall Street the remembrance of the broker's timid-looking
wife and the three little ones came to him. It was easy, after all, to
forgive. Marix was too unintelligent to understand that it paid to be
honest. "Perhaps," he reasoned, "God meant that even the fools and
traitors should be helped, too."

Going into the stock-room, he looked over the quotations of the day
before in an unimportant manner, waiting for Marix to come in.

"Hello! Hello!" he cried, at sight of him, with a genial laugh, putting
a hand on each of the little broker's shoulders and looking down at him
with warning eyes. "I'm going on the floor myself to-day. It's been a
long time since I've been there. Ravenel and I have come to an
understanding," his long, sinewy hands gripped Marix for a minute so
hard they made him wince, "and I'm going on to protect his interests."

The blue light of battle was in his eyes; his hat was far back on his
head and his hands thrust deep in his pockets as he waited for the gong
to call him to the fight. He saw that many were regarding him curiously,
and his cheeks flushed with the Celtic instinct to do the thing
well--dramatically well. He knew that, in the long night vigil, part of
him had died forever, but with chin well up, like a knight of old, he
went, at the sound of the great bell, to battle for the happiness of the
woman he loved.

XXVII

SELF-SURRENDER

When Katrine returned to her apartment after her visit to Dermott, she
found Nora, with an excited countenance, waiting for her at the door.
Finger on lip, she indicated a wish for Katrine to follow to her
bedroom.

"Miss Katrine," she said, closing the door by backing against it,
"there's one waiting for you. And you must think quick whether ye want
to see her--with all that it may mean to you--with the rehearsal
to-night. Though, poor lady, God knows her troubles! It's Mrs. Ravenel,"
she concluded.

"Alone?" Katrine asked.

"Yes, and with the tears streaming from her eyes and the look of death
on her face. Mr. Frank's dyin', they say. But I want you to think--to
think for yoursel