As for Lane, he had overestimated his strength. A
deadly numbness attacked his nerves, and he had almost lost the sense
of touch. When they arrived at Mel's home the snow-storm had abated
somewhat, and the lighted windows of the cottage shone brightly.

Lane helped Mel wade through the deep snow, or he pretended to help
her, for in reality he needed her support more than she needed his.
They entered the warm little parlor. Some one had replenished the
fire. The clock pointed to the hour of one. Lane laid the marriage
certificate on the open book Mel had been reading. Mel threw off hat,
coat, overshoes and gloves. Her hair was wet with melted snow.

"Now, Daren Lane," she said softly. "Now that you have made me your
wife--!"

Up until then Lane had been master of the situation. He had thought no
farther than this moment. And now he weakened. Was this beautiful
woman, with head uplifted and eyes full of fire, the Mel Iden of his
school days? Now that he had made her his wife--.

"Mel, there's no _now_ for me," he replied, with a sad finality. "From
this moment, I'll live in the past. I have no future.... Thank God,
you let me do what I could. I'll try to come again soon. But I must go
now. I'm afraid--I overtaxed my strength."

"Oh, you look so--so," she faltered. "Stay, Daren--and let me nurse
you.... We have a little spare room, warm, cozy. I'll wait on you,
Daren. Oh, it would mean so much to me--now I am your wife."

The look of her, the tones of her voice, made him weak. Then he
thought of his cold, sordid lodgings, and he realized that one more
moment here alone with Mel Iden would make him a coward in his own
eyes. He thanked her, and told her how impossible it was for him to
stay, and bidding her good night he reeled out into the white gloom.
At the gate he was already tired; at the bridge he needed rest. Once
more, then, he heard the imagined voices of the waters calling to
him.

CHAPTER XVIII

Seldom did Blair Maynard ever trust himself any more in the presence
of his mother's guests. Since Mrs. Maynard had announced the
engagement of his sister Margaret to Richard Swann, she had changed
remarkably. Blair did not love her any the better for the change. All
his life, as long as he could remember, he and Margaret had hated
pretension, and the littleness of living beyond their means. But now,
with this one _coup d'etat,_ his mother had regained her position as
the leader of Middleville society. Ha