It was only at her own door that he spoke again: standing there on

the shabby steps of her boarding-house, the light from the transom

yellowing his ghastly face.

"Something snapped"--he passed an unsteady hand across his eyes;--

"I care very deeply for you. I--they'll make over to you--what I

have. You can study on it--live on it, modestly--"

"W-what is the matter? Are you ill?" she stammered, white and

frightened.

But he only muttered that she had her warning and that she should

keep away from him, and that it would not be long before she should

have an opportunity in life. And he went his way not looking back.

When he reached his studio the hall was dark. As he turned the key

he thought he heard something stirring in the shadows, but went

in--leaving the door into the hallway open--and straight on across

the room to his desk.

He was putting something into his coat pocket, and his back was

still turned to the open door when Graylock stepped quietly across

the threshold; and Drene heard him, but closed his desk, leisurely,

and then, as leisurely, turned, knowing who had entered.

And so they stood alone together after many years.




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