of self-abandonment. It was just that, which, at this
moment, so horribly painful to him, prevented Hilary from seizing her in
his arms just that queer seeming self-effacement, as though she were lost
to knowledge of what she did. It seemed too brutal, too like taking
advantage of a child.

From calm is born the wind, the ripple from the still pool, self out of
nothingness--so all passes imperceptibly, no man knows how. The little
model's moment of self-oblivion passed, and into her wet eyes her plain,
twisting spirit suddenly writhed up again, for all the world as if she
had said: 'I won't let you go; I'll keep you--I'll keep you.'

Hilary broke away from her, and she fell forward on her face.

"Get up, child," he said--"get up; for God's sake, don't lie there!"

She rose obediently, choking down her sobs, mopping her face with a
small, dirty handkerchief. Suddenly, taking a step towards him, she
clenched both her hands and struck them downwards.

"I'll go to the bad," she said---"I will--if you don't take me!" And, her
breast heaving, her hair all loose, she stared straight into his face
with her red-rimmed eyes. Hilary turned suddenly, took a book up from
the writing-table, and opened it. His face was again suffused with
blood; his hands and lips trembled; his eyes had a queer fixed stare.

"Not now, not now," he muttered; "go away now. I'll come to you
to-morrow."

The little model gave him the look a dog gives you when it asks if you
are deceiving him. She made a sign on her breast, as a Catholic might
make the sign of his religion, drawing her fingers together, and
clutching at herself with them, then passed her little dirty handkerchief
once more over her eyes, and, turning round, went out.

Hilary remained standing where he was, reading the open book without
apprehending what it was.

There was a wistful sound, as of breath escaping hurriedly. Mr. Stone
was standing in the open doorway.

"She has been here," he said. "I saw her go away."

Hilary dropped the book; his nerves were utterly unstrung. Then,
pointing to a chair, he said: "Won't you sit down, sir?"

Mr. Stone came close up to his son-in-law.

"Is she in trouble?"

"Yes," murmured Hilary.

"She is too young to be in trouble. Did you tell her that?"

Hilary shook his head.

"Has the man hurt her?"

Again Hilary shook his head.

"What is her trouble, then?" said Mr. Stone. The closeness of this
catechism, the intent s