awakes from a debauch. The incidents of the preceding days paraded
with flying standards before her. They were victors indeed. "_Vae soli!_"
they seemed to shout. They had been pitiless in their assault, and now
they exulted at her defeat. They jeered at their captive; and Eden, with
that obsession which captives know, thought only of release. In all the
chartless future, freedom was the one thing for which she longed. Her
wounds were many; they had depleted her strength; but in freedom is a
balm that cures. Her strength might be irrevocable and the cicatrices
not to be effaced, yet give her that balm, and come what sorrow could.
As for resignation, the idea of it did not so much as visit her.
Resignation is a daily suicide, and she had not enough to outlast the
night.

The hours limped. The afternoon was on the wane, and still she toyed
with sorrow until suddenly she bethought herself of the need of
immediate action. Usselex would presently return, but when he came again
to her room, he should find it empty. At once, then, she made her
preparations, and telling the startled maid to complete them, and to
follow with the boxes to her father's house, she started out on foot,
her wardrobe packed, and ready for removal.

As Eden hurried through the streets, she was conscious only that freedom
was her goal. Everything else she put from her. It was to her father she
turned; it was through him that freedom would be obtained; and as she
hurried she pictured the indignation with which he would hear her tale.
He, indeed, was one on whom she could lean. Whatever other men might be,
he, at least was above reproach. Had he not for twenty years been
faithful to a memory. Surely her mother when she lived must have enjoyed
that gift of gifts, perfect confidence and trust.

So far back in the past as her memory extended she saw him always
considerate, gentle of manner, courteous to inferiors, deferential to
women, unassuming, and exemplary of life. In very truth there was none
other in the world like him. And when at last she entered his house she
told herself she was safe, and when the door closed, that she was free.

She knew without inquiry where to find him, and hastened at once to the
library, breathless when she reached his chair. He had been dozing over
a book, but at the rustle of her gown, he started and rubbed his eyes.

"It's good of you to come," he said, by way of greeting. "Why, Eden, I
haven't seen you for two days. S