long of moonlight, as white as paper, fell
across the matted floor. Prosper stepped in noiselessly and walked
over to her bed. He stood a moment and she heard him swallow.

"You're awake, Joan?"

Her eyes were staring up at him, but she lay still.

"Listen, Joan." He spoke in short sentences, waiting between each for
some comment of hers which did not come. "I shall have to go away
to-morrow. I shall have to go away for some time. I don't want you to
be unhappy. I want you to stay here for a while if you will, for as
long as you want to stay. I am leaving you plenty of money. I will
write and explain it all very clearly to you. I know that you will
understand. Listen." Here he knelt and took her hands, which he found
lying cold and stiff under the cover, pressed against her heart. "I
have made you happy here in this little house, haven't I, Joan?"

She would not answer even this except by the merest flicker of her
eyelids.

"You have trusted me; now, trust me a little longer. My life is very
complicated. This beautiful year with you, the year you have given to
me, is just a temporary respite from--from all sorts of things. I've
taught you a great deal, Joan. I've healed the wound that brute made
on your shoulder and in your heart. I've taught you to be beautiful.
I've filled your mind with beauty. You are a wonderful woman. You'll
live to be grateful to me. Some day you'll tell me so."

Her quiet, curved lips moved. "Are you tellin' me good-bye, Prosper?"

It was impossible to lie to her. He bent his head.

"Yes, Joan."

"Then tell it quick and go out and leave me here to-night."

It was impossible to touch her. She might have been wrapped in white
fire. He found that though she had not stirred a finger, his hand had
shrunk away from hers. He got to his feet, all the cleverness which all
day long he had been weaving like a silk net to catch, to bewilder, to
draw away her brain from the anguish of full comprehension, was
shriveled. He stood and stared helplessly at her, dumb as a youth. And,
obedient, he went out and shut the door, taking the white patch of
moonlight with him.

So Joan, having waited, behind an obstinately locked door, for his
departure, came out at noon and found herself in the small, gay house
alone.

She sat in one of the lacquered chairs and saw after a long while that
the Chinaman was looking at her.

Wen Ho, it seemed, had been given instructions. He was to stay and
take care of th