all like
a pack of wolves after me. Mr. Hazlewood had joined them. I was driven
into a corner. I loved Dick. They meant to tear him from me without any
pity. I clung. Yes, I clung."

But Thresk thrust her aside.

"You tricked him," he cried.

"I didn't dare to tell him," Stella pleaded, wringing her hands. "I
didn't dare to lose him."

"You tricked him," Thresk repeated; and at the note of anger in his voice
Stella found herself again.

"You accuse and condemn me?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. A thousand times, yes," he exclaimed hotly, and she answered with
another question winged on a note of irony:

"Because I tricked him? Or because I--married him?"

Thresk was silenced. He recognised the truth implied in the distinction,
he turned to her with a smile.

"Yes," he answered. "You are right, Stella. It's because you
married him."

He stood for a moment in thought. Then with a gesture of helplessness he
picked up her cloak. She watched his action and as he came towards her
she cried:

"But I'll tell him now, Henry." In a way she owed it to this man who
cared for her so much, who was so prepared for sacrifice, if sacrifice
could help. That morning on the downs was swept from her memory now.
"Yes, I'll tell him now," she said eagerly. Since Henry Thresk set
such store upon that confession, why so very likely would Dick, her
husband, too.

But Thresk shook his head.

"What's the use now? You give him no chance. You can't set him free"; and
Stella was as one turned to stone. All argument seemed sooner or later to
turn to that one dread alternative which had already twice that night
forced itself on her acceptance.

"Yes, I can, Henry, and I will, I promise you, if he wishes to be free. I
can do it quite easily, quite naturally. Any woman could. So many of us
take things to make us sleep."

There was no boastfulness in her voice or manner, but rather a despairing
recognition of facts.

"Good God, you mustn't think of it!" said Thresk eagerly. "That's too
big a price to pay."

Stella shook her head wistfully.

"You hear it said, Henry," she answered with an indescribable
wistfulness, "that women will do anything to keep the men they love.
They'll do a great deal--I am an example--but not always everything.
Sometimes love runs just a little stronger. And then it craves that the
loved one shall get all he wants to have. If Dick wants his freedom I
too, then, shall want him to have it."

And while Thres