ed to sit,
just you and I, by my window and watch the stars come out between the
fir branches! And I love you all, every one of you. And I do not blame
Fairfax Cary. It is destiny, I think, with us all. But I want you to
know--and you can tell them that, too,--that there is one whom I love
beyond every one else, beyond life, death, fear, anguish, meeting, and
parting. Loving him so, and not despairing of a life to come when we are
all washed clean, my dear, when we are all washed clean--"

Her voice broke and she moved again to the window. The clock ticked, the
sun came dazzling in, a fly buzzed against the pane. Jacqueline turned.
"Tell them that they are all dear to me, but that my home is here with
my husband. Tell them that Lewis Rand--that Lewis Rand"--She put her
hands to her breast. "No. I have not power to tell you that--not yet,
not yet! But this I say--my uncles were soldiers, and they fought
bravely and witnessed much, but I have seen a battlefield"--She
shuddered strongly and brought her hands together as if to wring them,
then let them fall instead and turned upon her cousin a face colourless
but almost smiling. "It is strange," she said, "what pain we grow to
call Victory. Let's talk of it no more, Unity." She caressed the
other's hand, raised it to her lips, and kissed it.

"I did not come to stay," said Unity brokenly. "You had rather be alone.
The evening is falling and they look for me at home. When you call me, I
will come again. Are you sure--are you sure, Jacqueline, that you
understand what they--what they sent me to say?"

"I understand enough," said Jacqueline, in a very low voice, and kissed
her cousin upon the brow.

CHAPTER XL

THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR

Rand closed the heavy ledger. "It is all straight," he said.

"It's as straight as if 'twas a winding-up forever," answered Tom. "Are
you going home now?"

"Yes."

"There's almost nothing on the docket. I've seen no such general
clearance since you began to practise and took me in. You say you're
going to refuse the Amherst case?"

"I have refused it."

"Then," quoth Tom, "I might as well go fishing. The weather's right, and
every affair of yours is so cleaned and oiled and put to rights that
there's nothing here for a man to do. One might suppose you were going a
long journey. If you don't want me to-morrow, I'll call on old Mat
Green--"

"Don't go fishing to-morrow, Tom," said Rand from the desk, "but don't
come he