came out with Doctor
Wallace, who was evidently leaving.

"She is unconscious and dying," said Doctor Bronson to Lane, and then
bade the minister good-bye and returned to the room.

"How strangely bitter she was!" exclaimed Doctor Wallace to Lane. "Yet
she seemed such a frank honest girl. Her attitude was an
acknowledgment of sin. But she did not believe it herself. She seemed
to have a terrible resentment. Not against one man, or many persons,
but perhaps life itself! She was beyond me. A modern girl--a pagan!
But such a brave, loyal, generous little soul. What a pity! I find my
religion at fault because it can accomplish nothing these days."

CHAPTER XX

Lane took Rose's death to heart as if she had been his sister or
sweetheart. The exhaustion and exposure he was subjected to during
these days dragged him farther down.

One bitter February day he took refuge in the railroad station. The
old negro porter who had known Lane since he was a boy evidently read
the truth of Lane's condition, for he contrived to lead him back into
a corner of the irregular room. It was an obscure corner, rather
hidden by a supporting pillar and the projecting end of a news
counter. This seat was directly over the furnace in the cellar.
Several pipes, too hot to touch, came up through the floor. It was the
warmest place Lane had found, and he sat there for hours. He could see
the people passing to and fro through the station, arriving and
leaving on trains, without himself being seen. That afternoon was good
for him, and he went back next day.

But before he could get to the coveted seat he was accosted by Blair
Maynard. Lane winced under Blair's piercing gaze; and the haggard face
of his friend renewed Lane's deadened pangs. Lane led Blair to the
warm corner, and they sat down. It had been many weeks since they had
seen each other. Blair talked in one uninterrupted flow for an hour,
and so the life of the people Lane had given up was once again open to
him. It was like the scoring of an old wound. Then Lane told what
little there was to tell about himself. And the things he omitted
Blair divined. After that they sat silent for a while.

"Of course you knew Mel's boy died," said Blair, presently.

"Oh--No!" exclaimed Lane.

"Hadn't you heard? I thought--of course you--.... Yes, he died some
time ago. Croup or flu, I forget."

"Dead!" whispered Lane, and he leaned forward to cover his face with
his hands. He had seemed s