of all I say; of course I know there is no
use wasting effort on me now. She is the most devoted nurse in the
world; and we shall part as we met--she taking care of me at the last
as she did at the first. Would God our relation had never been other
than patient and nurse! It would have been better for both had we
never been husband and wife!" And John Manning turned his face to the
wall with a weary sigh; then he coughed harshly and raised his hand to
his breast as though to stifle the burning within him.

"It seems to me, John, that you ought not to talk like that of the
woman you loved," said Laurence Laughton, with unusual seriousness.

"I never loved her," answered Manning, coldly. Then he turned and
asked hastily, "Do you think I should want to die, if I loved her?"

"But she loves you," said Laurence.

"She never loved me!" was Manning's impatient retort.

"Then why were you married?"

"That's what I would like to know. It was fate, I suppose. What is to
be, is. I never used to believe in predestination, but I know that of
my own free will I could never have done what I did."

"I confess I do not understand you," said Larry.

"I do not understand myself. There is so much in this world that is
mysterious--I hope the next will be different. I was under the charm,
I fancy, when I married her. She is a beautiful woman, as I told you,
and I was a man, and I was weak, and I had hope. Why she married me
that early September evening, I do not know. It was not long before we
both found out our mistake. And it was too late then. We were man and
wife. Don't suppose I blame her--I do not. I have no cause of
complaint. She is a good wife to me, as I have tried to be a good
husband to her. We made a mistake in marrying each other, and we know
it--that's all!"

Before Laurence Laughton could answer, the door opened gently and
Mrs. Manning entered the room. Laurence rose to greet his friend's
wife, but the act was none the less a homage to her resplendent
beauty. In spite of the worn look of her face, she was the most
beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had tawny tigress hair
and hungry tigress eyes. The eyes indeed were fathomless and
indescribable, and their fitful glance had something uncanny about
it. The hair was nearly of the true Venetian color, and she had the
true Venetian sumptuousness of appearance, simple as was her attire.
She seemed as though she had just risen from the couch whereon she
reclined befor