still the love seemed to
soften him. Into his life had come new, strange emotions. The sensuous
odor of stephanotis, that had not repelled in the old life, had come to
suggest a pestilence in his nostrils, made clean by the purity of lilac.
As he swayed in contention, the face of Wrong fronting him became the
face of Sin--repellent, abhorrent; how could he ruin her life, and by a
criminal act?

Hour by hour the struggle went on, until, exhausted, Crane flung himself
upon his bed to rest a few minutes, and sleep, unsought, came and hushed
the turmoil of his heart.

Without decision he had cast himself down; his mind, tortured in its
perplexity, was unequal to the task of guiding him. So wearied he should
have slept for hours, but, as the first glint of sunlight came through
the uncurtained window, he sprang from his couch with the call of an
uncompleted something in his ears.

But calm had come to him in his sleep; the question of right or wrong
had been settled. He tried to remember how he had come to the conclusion
that was alone in his rested mind. It must have been before he slept,
though his memory failed him, for as he slumbered Allis Porter had come
with the big gray eyes full of tears and asked him once again to
spare Mortimer humiliation for her sake. And he had answered, "He is
innocent." God! he remembered it, even now it thrilled through his
frame--she had bent over and kissed him on the forehead. Yes, that was
what had wakened him. What foolish things dreams were. He had won just a
kiss and had paid the price of his love; and now waking, and in the calm
of a conflict passed, he had won over the demon that had tempted him
with the perfume of lilacs. He had striven to the point when further
strife became a crime. He had lost; but he would prove himself a good
loser.

XLV

That day Crane went to Brookfield.

In spirit he was like a man that had been cast into an angry sea, and
had battled his way through hungry waves to shore. Saved, the utter
weariness of fierce strife hung heavy over his soul, and exhaustion
deadened his joy of escape. Just saved, bereft of everything, he looked
back over the dark waters and shuddered. And before him a dreary waste
of desert shore-land stretched out interminably, and he must wander
alone over its vast expanse forever.

Crane in all things was strong. It was strength drawn to right by the
influence of the woman he loved that had saved him from the waters that