ate."

"At least make an effort, Stewart. Try!"

"No. There's no use. I'm done for. Please leave me--thank you for--"

He had been savage, then sullen, and now he was grim. Madeline all but
lost power to resist his strange, deadly, cold finality. No doubt he
knew he was doomed. Yet something halted her--held her even as she took
a backward step. And she became conscious of a subtle change in her own
feeling. She had come into that squalid hole, Madeline Hammond, earnest
enough, kind enough in her own intentions; but she had been almost
imperious--a woman habitually, proudly used to being obeyed. She divined
that all the pride, blue blood, wealth, culture, distinction, all the
impersonal condescending persuasion, all the fatuous philanthropy on
earth would not avail to turn this man a single hair's-breadth from his
downward career to destruction. Her coming had terribly augmented
his bitter hate of himself. She was going to fail to help him. She
experienced a sensation of impotence that amounted almost to distress.
The situation assumed a tragic keenness. She had set forth to reverse
the tide of a wild cowboy's fortunes; she faced the swift wasting of his
life, the damnation of his soul. The subtle consciousness of change in
her was the birth of that faith she had revered in Stillwell. And all at
once she became merely a woman, brave and sweet and indomitable.

"Stewart, look at me," she said.

He shuddered. She advanced and laid a hand on his bent shoulder. Under
the light touch he appeared to sink.

"Look at me," she repeated.

But he could not lift his head. He was abject, crushed. He dared not
show his swollen, blackened face. His fierce, cramped posture revealed
more than his features might have shown; it betrayed the torturing shame
of a man of pride and passion, a man who had been confronted in his
degradation by the woman he had dared to enshrine in his heart. It
betrayed his love.

"Listen, then," went on Madeline, and her voice was unsteady. "Listen to
me, Stewart. The greatest men are those who have fallen deepest into
the mire, sinned most, suffered most, and then have fought their evil
natures and conquered. I think you can shake off this desperate mood and
be a man."

"No!" he cried.

"Listen to me again. Somehow I know you're worthy of Stillwell's love.
Will you come back with us--for his sake?"

"No. It's too late, I tell you."

"Stewart, the best thing in life is faith in human nature. I h