e could have found no
fault with his love-making. But to-night he felt dumb; he was mortally
afraid of appearing high and noble and magnanimous.

"You see, things always happen during the first years of married life.
Perhaps more happens--I mean in a pettier way--when the man has leisure
and can see too much of his wife. In my case--our case--it was the other
way--and something almost tragic happened. So I vote we treat it
casually, as something that must have been expected sooner or later to
disturb our--our--even tenor--and forget it."

"Forget it?"

"Well, yes. I can if you can."

"And can you forget who I am?"

"You are exactly what you were before those scoundrels recognized your
mother, and--and--set me going. Of course I had to find out the truth. I
thought you knew and tried to make you tell me. But you
wouldn't--couldn't--and I had to employ Spaulding."

"Do you mean you would have married me if you had known the truth at
the time?"

"Rather."

"And--but--I told you--I became a regular gambler."

He could not help smiling. "I have no fear of your gambling again. And I
don't fancy you were a bit worse than the others who had no gambling
blood in them--all the world has that. Gambling is about the earliest of
the vices. I--if--you wouldn't mind promising--I know you will keep it."

"Nothing under heaven would induce me to play again. But--but--I opened
your safe like a thief and stole--"

"Oh, not quite. After all it was yours as much as mine. If I had died
without a will you would have got it.

"Of course--I know what you mean--but men have always driven women into a
corner, and they have had to get out by methods of their own. I wish now
I had given you the twenty thousand. I prefer you should accept my
decision that it was all my fault. Give me the chain."

She drew it from her bosom and handed it to him. He fastened the ruby in
its place and threw the chain over her neck. The great jewel lit up the
front of her somber gown like a sudden torch in a cavern.

The stern despair of Helene's tragic mask relaxed. She dropped her face
into her hands and began to sob. Then Ruyler was himself again. He
picked her up in his arms and settled comfortably into the deepest of
the chairs.

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's The Avalanche, by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AVALANCHE ***

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