d the room hastily, and extended her hand with a
brave smile.... Listening, she heard him descend the stairs.... Then
from the front window, she saw him reach the street, turn to the Avenue
and mingle with men.

It was not like yesterday in the little room. That agony had worn her
too much for another such crisis.... The thought fascinated, that there
must be some hidden meaning to the queer promise she had been impelled
to make--to ride with him Saturday.... The parting, his instant
comprehension of some mood of hers, in which words had no place; his
sad smile, and the look of gratitude when she came forward; his seeming
content with all her decisions; his inability to question or ask
favors--all these retained a remarkable hold upon her imagination. And
even though, to her eyes, he stood as one fallen, there was poise in
his presence.... Something about him brought back her dreams, whether
or no, with all their ecstasy and dread. Already she was thinking of
him--as one gone; and yet the studio seemed mystic with his comings and
goings and gifts.... It came to her how her lips had quivered under his
eyes, as she went forward to say good-by.... It was not three or four
days, but "good-by," indeed.

* * * * *

Though she would have put the black mark of misery upon it, this was
one of the greatest of Beth Truba's days. She had come into the world
with a great faith to bestow--and some dreadful punishment, it seemed,
made her bear it alone. It had long ached within to be given. It shamed
her that she could not. With all her intellect, all her world-habit of
mind, she believed that Andrew Bedient had fallen greatly--greatly,
because he had shown himself so clean and wise. She granted to herself
nothing but a thrilling admiration for him in his higher moments, but
still she was associated with this fall, because she had permitted him
to come to her, almost at will. And she had not been _enough_ for
him--what poison in that thought!

Yet, the unseen Shadowy Sister endeavored to restore her faith again
and again, and garland the Wanderer with it....

Every instant of passing daylight harried her with the thought of the
work yet to do. It might prove much--and to-morrow--the thought came
with heaviness and darkening--the portrait must go to him. And the day
after--he would go.... She dreaded to look at the picture now. Many
touches of love, she had put upon it. Her highest thinking it had
c