n soon," said Zora. "I want to get everything clear in my
mind. I've had a great shock. I feel as if I had been beaten all over. For
the first time I recognize the truth of the proverb about a woman, a dog,
and a walnut tree. Why did you send for Septimus?"

Sypher leaned back in his chair, and as the illustrated paper prevented him
from seeing Zora's face, he looked reflectively at the fire.

"I've always told you that I am superstitious. Septimus seems to be gifted
with an unconscious sense of right in an infinitely higher degree than any
man I have ever known. His dealings with Emmy showed it. His sending for
you to help me showed it. He has shown it in a thousand ways. If it hadn't
been for him and his influence on my mind I don't think I should have come
to that decision. When I had come to it, I just wanted him. Why, I can't
tell you."

"I suppose you knew that he was in love with me?" said Zora in the same
even tone.

"Yes," said Sypher. "That's why he married your sister."

"Do you know why--in the depths of his heart--he sent me the tail of the
little dog?"

"He knew somehow that it was right. I believe it was. I tell you I'm
superstitious. But in what absolute way it was right I can't imagine."

"I can," said Zora. "He knew that my place was by your side. He knew that I
cared for you more than for any man alive." She paused. Then she said
deliberately: "He knew that I loved you all the time."

Sypher plucked the illustrated paper from her hand and cast it across the
room, and, bending over the arm of his chair, seized her wrist.

"Zora, do you mean that?"

She nodded, fluttered a glance at him, and put out her free hand to claim a
few moments' grace.

"I left you to look for a mission in life. I've come back and found it at
the place I started from. It's a big mission, for it means being a mate to
a big man. But if you will let me try, I'll do my best."

Sypher thrust away the protecting hand.

"You can talk afterwards," he said.

Thus did Zora come to the knowledge of things real. When the gates were
opened, she walked in with a tread not wanting in magnificence. She made
the great surrender, which is woman's greatest victory, very proudly, very
humbly, very deliciously. She had her greatnesses.

She freed herself, flushed and trembling, throbbing with a strange
happiness that caught her breath. This time she believed Nature, and
laughed with her in her heart in close companionship. She was m