e flashed through his
brain--what--what was the use of it all?

None, none at all. Every dream had been swept from his waking thoughts.
Every enchanting emotion was completely dead. The woman who had inspired
the rose-tinted glasses through which he had gazed upon the future no
longer had power so to inspire him. By her own action she had taken
herself out of his life. She could never again become a part of it. He
would live on with her, under the same roof, a mockery of the life which
their marriage imposed upon them. He had pledged that to Nan, and he
would not break his word to--Nan. But love? His love was gone. It was
dead. And he knew that the ashes of that once passionate fire could
never be stirred into being again.

There was a rustle of skirts behind him. He heard, but did not turn. A
fierce passion was rising to his brain, and he dared not turn until he
had forced it under restraint.

"You have come back, Jeff?"

The voice was low and soft. There was something tragically humble in its
tone.

The man turned.

"Yes, Evie." Then he added: "I told you I would."

His voice was gentler than he knew. The harshness of their previous
meeting had gone out of it. Nor was he aware of the change, nor of the
reason, although in his mind was the memory of his promise to Nan.

"And you'll tell me your decision--now?"

The humility was heart-breaking. Nor was the man unaffected by it. He
looked into the beautiful face, for the dark eyes were averted. Then his
gaze dropped to the charming figure daintily clad in a simple morning
frock of subtle attraction. But his eyes came back to the face with its
crowning of beautiful dark hair, nor was there any change in their
expression as a result of their survey.

"As well now as later."

"What is it?"

For the first time Jeff found himself gazing into the wide dark eyes.
There was pain in them. Apprehension. There were the signs about them
of long sleepless nights. He shut the sight of these things out by the
process of turning away to observe the general movement going on in the
near distance.

"Guess there's no use to say a deal," he said, a curiously moody note
taking possession of his voice. "If I did, why, I'd likely say a whole
heap more than a man may say to his wife. Guess the right an' wrong of
things had best lie in our hearts. You know just what you did, and why
you did it. I know what you did, an' can only guess why you did it. I