Crittenden

"Until lately," she was saying, and she was not saying at all what she

meant to say; but here lately a change was taking place; something had

come into her feeling for him that was new and strange--she could not

understand--perhaps it had always been there; perhaps she was merely

becoming conscious of it. And when she thought, as she had been thinking

all day, of his long years of devotion--how badly she had requited

them--it seemed that the least she could do was to tell him that he was

now first in her life of all men--that much she could say; and perhaps

he had always been, she did not know; perhaps, now that the half-gods

were gone, it was at last the coming of the--the--She was deeply

agitated now; her voice was trembling; she faltered, and she turned

suddenly, sharply, and with a little catch in her breath, her lips and

eyes opening slowly--her first consciousness, perhaps, a wonder at his

strange silence--and dazed by her own feeling and flushing painfully,

she looked at him for the first time since she began to talk, and she

saw him staring fixedly at her with a half-agonized look, as though he

were speechlessly trying to stop her, his face white, bitter, shamed,

helpless, Not a word more dropped from her lips--not a sound. She

moved; it seemed that she was about to fall, and Crittenden started

toward her, but she drew herself erect, and, as she turned--lifting her

head proudly--the moonlight showed that her throat was drawn--nothing

more. Motionless and speechless, Crittenden watched her white shape move

slowly and quietly up the walk and grow dim; heard her light, even step

on the gravel, up the steps, across the porch, and through the doorway.

Not once did she look around.

* * * * *

He was in his room now and at his window, his face hard as stone when

his heart was parching for tears. It was true, then. He was the brute he

feared he was. He had killed his life, and he had killed his

love--beyond even her power to recall. His soul, too, must be dead, and

it were just as well that his body die. And, still bitter, still shamed

and hopeless, he stretched out his arms to the South with a fierce

longing for the quick fate--no matter what--that was waiting for him

there.