u not my
wife, were you a man, I should know how to deal with that which lies
between us. As it is you must thank the difference in our sex for that
which nothing else could have done for you. As yet I have not had the
time to arrange the details of our future. To-morrow, perhaps, things
will have cleared in my mind. I shall sleep to-night over at Bud's----"

"Oh, Jeff, Jeff, have mercy. I----"

"Mercy? Mercy?" A sudden fire blazed up where only a frigid light had
shone. The man's tones were alive with a fury of passion. "Did you
have mercy? Was there one merciful, womanly emotion in your cruel,
selfish heart when you sent those men, that man to his death for ten
thousand filthy dollars? Pray to God for mercy, not to me."

A curious sullen light dawned in the woman's eyes. But even as it
dawned it faded with the man's movement to depart.

"You--you won't leave me?" she pleaded. "Oh, Jeff, I love you so.
What I did was in ignorance, in cruel, selfish longing. I had been
reduced to the life of a drudge without hope, without even a house fit
for existence. I believed I had honest right. I believed even that my
act was a just one. Jeff, Jeff, don't leave me, don't drive me out of
your life. I cannot bear it. Anything, anything but that. My God, I
don't deserve it. I don't--true. Jeff--Jeff!"

Her final appeal came as the man, without a word, passed through the
open window. She followed him in a desperate hope. But the hope was
vain. She saw him mount the fresh horse which had been brought round
and left at the tying post.

As he turned the beast about to depart, just for one instant he looked
in her direction.

"I will see you again in the morning. By that time I shall have
decided what is best for us both."

He waited for no more. There was nothing to wait for. He lifted the
reins and his horse set off. The dust rose up and screened him from
view.

Once more Elvine was standing on the veranda. Once more her gaze was
following the trail of rising dust. But there was no fever of suspense
in her beautiful eyes now. There were not even tears. The blow had
fallen. Fate had caught up with her. Its merciless onrush had
overwhelmed her. She was crushed. She was broken under its
sledge-hammer blow. She stood drooping, utterly, utterly broken and
spiritless before the man's swift, brief indictment and action.

The end had come. Nor had it anything of the end she had visualized in
h