ite hat.

At the door she paused for a second; took a last look at the quiet,
white little room tranquil and silent in the lamplight; then she turned
off the light and went out, softly, holding in her hands a key which
fitted no door of her own.

One o'clock sounded heavily from Saint Hilda's as she left her house;
the half hour was striking as she stooped in the dark hallway outside
the studio and fitted the key she held--the key that was to unlock for
her the mystery of the world.

He had not heard her. She groped her way into the unlighted studio,
touched with caressing finger-tips the vague familiar shapes that the
starlight, falling through the glass above, revealed to her as she
passed.

In the little inner room she paused. There was a light through the
passageway beyond, but she stood here a moment, looking around her while
memories of the place deepened the colour in her cheeks.

Then she went forward, timidly, and stood at his closed door, listening.

A sudden fright seized her; one hand flew to her breast, her
throat--covered her eyes for a moment--and fell limp by her side.

[Illustration: "She was longer over her hair ... gathering it and
bringing it under discipline."]

"Louis!" she faltered. She heard him spring to his feet and stand as
though transfixed.

"Louis," she said, "it is I. Will you open your door to me?"

The sudden flood of electric light dazzled her; then she saw him
standing there, one hand still resting on the door knob.

"I've come," she said, with a faint smile.

"Valerie! My God!"

She stood, half smiling, half fearful, her dark eyes meeting his, two
friendly little hands outstretched. Then, as his own caught them, almost
crushed them:

"Oh, it was _your_ letter that ended all for me, Louis! It settled every
doubt I had. I _knew_ then--you darling!"

She bent and touched his hands with her lips, then lifted her sweet,
untroubled gaze to his:

"I had been away from you so long, so long. And the time was approaching
for me to decide, and I didn't know what was best for us, any more than
when I went away. And _then_!--your letter came!"

She shook her head, slowly:

"I don't know what I might have decided if you never had written that
letter to me; probably I would have come back to you anyway. I think so;
I can't think of my doing anything else: though I _might_ have
decided--against myself. But as soon as I read your letter I _knew_,
Louis.... And I am here."

He