of _dolce far niente_ disappeared
from the girl's blue eyes. The window opened wider, noiselessly but
quickly; then a hand, strong, shapely, pushed the curtains aside. Had
the intruder first satisfied himself that the room was vacant? He acted
as one certain of his ground; now drawing the window draperies quickly
together behind him as if seeking to escape observation from any one
below, he stepped out into the room.

Something he saw seemed to surprise him; a low exclamation fell from his
lips; his eyes, searching in the dim light his surroundings, swiftly
passed from the rich furnishings, the artistic decorations, to the
bright-colored robe, the little slippers before the fire. Here they
lingered, but only for a moment! Did the intruder hear a sound, a quick
breath? His gaze swerved to the opposite end of the room where it saw a
living presence. For a moment they looked at each other; the man's face
turned very pale; his hand touched the back of a chair; he steadied
himself.

"I thought--to enter armory hall--did not know your rooms were here," he
managed to say in a low tone, "at this corner of Strathorn House."

She did not answer; so they stood, silently, absurdly. Her face was like
paper; her hair, in contrast, most bright; her eyes expressed only
incomprehension. The man had to speak first; he pulled himself together.
The bad fortune that had dogged him so long, that he had fought against
so hard, now found its culmination: it had cast him, of all places,
hither, at her feet.

So be it; well, destiny now could harm him little more! His eyes
gleamed; a reckless light shone out, a daredevil luster. He continued to
look at her, then threw back his head.

"I had hoped you would never know; but the gods, it seems," he could
even laugh, "have ordained otherwise. '_Fata obstant_.'" Still that
startled, uncomprehending look on the girl's white face! He went on more
quickly, like a man driven to bay. "You do not understand; you are
credulous; take people for what they seem,--not for what they are; or
have been."

He stopped; a suggestion of pain creeping into her expression, as if,
behind wonderment, she was conscious of something being rudely torn,
wrenched in her inmost being, held him. His face grew set; the nails of
his closed fingers cut his palms. But the laugh returned to his lips,
the luster to his eyes.

"Or have been!" he repeated. "A good many people have their pasts. Can
you imagine what mine may hav