nd salt, welled up from his throat. Then his
bitter, strangled cry went out over the waters. At last he understood
the voices of the river.

Lane quickened his strokes. He swung the bow in. He pointed it
shoreward. Straight for the opening of the sluice! His last strokes
were prodigious. The boat swung the right way and shot into the
channel. Lane dropped his oars. He saw men below wading knee-deep in
the water. The boat rode the incline, down to the long swell and
curled yellow billows below, where it was checked with violent shock.
Lane felt himself propelled as if into darkness.

When Lane opened his eyes he recognized as through a veil the little
parlor of the Idens. All about him seemed dim and far away. Faces and
voices were there, indistinguishable. A dark cloud settled over his
eyes. He dreamed but could not understand the dreams. The black veil
came and went.

What was the meaning of the numbness of his body? The immense weight
upon his breast! Then it seemed he saw better, though he could not
move. Sunlight streamed in at the window. Outside were maple leaves,
gold and red and purple, swaying gently. Then a great roaring sound
seemed to engulf him. The rapids? The voice of the river.

Then Mel was there kneeling beside him. All save her face grew vague.

"Swann?" he whispered.

"You saved his life," said Mel.

"Ah!" And straightway he forgot. "Mel--what's--wrong--with me?"

Mel's face was like white marble and her hands on his trembled
violently. She could not answer. But he knew. There seemed to be a
growing shadow in the room. Her eyes held a terrible darkness.

"Mel, I--never told--you," he whispered. "I married you--because I
loved you.... But I was--jealous.... I hated.... I couldn't forgive.
I couldn't understand.... Now I know. There's a law no woman--can
transgress. Soul and love are the same--in a woman. They must be
inviolable.... If I could have lived--I'd have surrendered to you. For
I loved you--beyond words to tell. It was love that made me well....
But we could not have been happy. Never, with that spectre between
us.... And, so--it must be--always.... In spite of war--and wealth--in
spite of men--women must rise...."

His voice failed, and again the strange rush and roar enveloped him.
But it seemed internal, dimmer and farther away. Mel's face was
fading. She spoke. And her words were sweet, without meaning. Then the
fading grayness merged into night.

THE END

_The