mulous mouth curved with the
loveliness of a desire as innocent as a child's.

And he read there no taint of lesser passion, nothing of less noble
emotion; only a fearless and overwhelming acknowledgment of her
craving to employ the gifts with which her womanhood endowed her--love
and life, and service never ending.

* * * * *

In her mother's room they sat long talking, her hands resting on his,
her fresh and delicate face a pale white blur in the dusk.

It was very late before he went to the room allotted him, knowing that
he could not hope for sleep. Seated there by his open window he heard
the owl's tremolo rise, quaver, and die away in the moonlight; he
heard the murmuring plaint of marsh-fowl, and the sea-breeze stirring
the reeds.

Now, in this supreme crisis of his life, looking out into darkness he
saw a star fall, leaving an incandescent curve against the heavens
which faded slowly as he looked.

Into an obscurity as depthless, his soul was peering, now, naked,
unarmoured, clasping hands with hers. And every imperious and furious
tide that sweeps the souls and bodies of men now mounted
overwhelmingly and set toward her. It seemed at moments as though
their dragging was actually moving his limbs from where he sat; and he
closed his eyes and his strong hand fell on the sill, grasping it as
though for anchorage.

Now,--if there were in him anything higher than the mere clay that
clotted his bones--now was the moment to show it. And if there were a
diviner armour within reach of his unsteady hand, he must don it now
and rivet it fast in the name of God.

Darkness is a treacherous councillor; he rose heavily, and turned the
switch, flooding the room with light, then flung himself across the
bed, his clenched fists over his face.

In his ears he seemed to hear the dull roar of the current which, so
far through life, had borne him on its crest, tossing, hurling him
whither it had listed.

It should never again have its will of him. This night he must set his
course forever.

"Clive!"

But the faint, clear call was no more real, and no less, than the
voice which was ringing always in his ears, now,--no softer, no less
winning.

"Clive!"

After a moment he raised himself to his elbows and gazed,
half-blinded, toward the door. Then he got clumsily to his feet,
stumbled across the floor, and opened it.

She stood there in her frail chamber robe of silk and swansdown,