ren and die
is a sort of suspended energy which has no conceivable place in this
over-complex and unwieldy world. He had no clear nor ringing message,
but he did have, just then, an overpowering conviction that Ruth and
he--not every one, but Ruth and he, at least--had a vocation in
keeping clear of vocations, and that they must fulfil it.

Over the telephone he said: "Ruth dear, I'll be right there. Walked
all night. Got straightened out now. I'm out at Mineola. It's all
right with me now, blessed. I want so frightfully much to make it all
right with you. I'll be there in about an hour."

She answered "Yes" so non-committally that he was smitten by the fact
that he had yet to win forgiveness for his frenzy in leaving her; that
he must break the shell of resentment which would incase her after a
whole night's brooding between sullen walls.

On the train, unconscious of its uproar, he was bespelled by his new
love. During a few moments of their lives, ordinary real people,
people real as a tooth-brush, do actually transcend the coarsely
physical aspects of sex and feeding, and do approximate to the
unwavering glow of romantic heroes. Carl was no more a romantic
hero-lover than, as a celebrated aviator, he had been a
hero-adventurer. He was a human being. He was not even admirable,
except as all people are admirable, from the ash-man to the king.
There had been nothing exemplary in his struggle to find adjustment
with his wife; he had been bad in his impatience just as he had been
good in his boyish affection; in both he had been human. Even now,
when without reserve he gave himself up to love, he was aware that he
would ascend, not on godlike pinions, but by a jerky old
apartment-house elevator, to make peace with a vexed girl who was also
a human being, with a digestive system and prejudices. Yet with a joy
that encompassed all the beauty of banners and saluting swords,
romantic towers and a fugitive queen, a joy transcending trains and
elevators and prejudices, Carl knew that human girl as the symbol of
man's yearning for union with the divine; he desired happiness for her
with a devotion great as the passion in Galahad's heart when all night
he knelt before the high altar.

He came slowly up to their apartment-house. If it were only possible
for Ruth to trust him, now----

Mingled with his painfully clear remembrance of all the sweet things
Ruth was and had done was a tragic astonishment that he--this same he
w