e began to cry. I took her in my arms, said everything that she
wished me to say, heedlessly, brutally, not caring what I said.

"That night I ran off, resolved to end it all--to save what I longed
for. I remained five hours trudging in the night--pulled back and forth.
I remembered my children. I came back,--told a lie. The next day I shut
the door of the studio not on her, but on myself.

"For months I did nothing. I was miserable. She saw it at last, and said
to me:

"'You ought to work. You aren't happy doing nothing. I've arranged
something for you.'

"I raised my head in amazement, as she continued,
clapping her hands with delight:

"'I've talked it all over with papa. You'll go into his office. You'll
do big things. He's quite enthusiastic, and I promised for you.'

"I went. I became interested. I stayed. Now I am like any other man,
domesticated, conservative, living my life, and she has not the
slightest idea of what she has killed."

"Let us go in," said Herkimer, rising.

"And you say I could have left a name?" said Rantoul, bitterly.

"You were wrong to tell me all this," said Herkimer.

"I owed you the explanation. What could I do?"

"Lie."

"Why?"

"Because, after such a confidence, it is impossible for you ever to see
me again. You know it."

"Nonsense. I--"

"Let's go back."

Full of dull anger and revolt, Herkimer led the way. Rantoul, after a
few steps, caught him by the sleeve.

"Don't take it too seriously, Britt. I don't revolt any more. I'm no
longer the Rantoul you knew."

"That's just the trouble," said Herkimer, cruelly.

When their steps sounded near, Mrs. Rantoul rose hastily, spilling her
silk and needles on the floor. She gave her husband a swift, searching
look, and said with her flattering smile:

"Mr. Herkimer, you must be a very interesting talker. I am quite
jealous."

"I am rather tired," he answered, bowing. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go
off to bed."

"Really?" she said, raising her eyes. She extended her hand, and he took
it with almost the physical repulsion with which one would touch the
hand of a criminal. The next morning he left.

III

When Herkimer had finished, he shrugged his shoulders, gave a short
laugh, and, glancing at the clock, went off in his curt, purposeful
manner.

"Well, by Jove!" said Steingall, recovering first from the spell of the
story, "doesn't that prove exactly what I said? They're jealous, they're
all jealous, I