together; but none the less he determined that now at last he must
break away from her forever.

The immutable fact remained that he was married to Felicity. Though he
had ceased to attend his own church from the days of his boyhood, the
Catholic doctrine of the indissolubility of marriage remained as one of
his traditions, and this too in spite of the fact that he had been
married by a Protestant priest. He had not committed the one sin which
his wife's church recognised as the only cause for divorce. There was
no escape from his obligation, provided his wife would forgive him and
take him back. Her wrong to him had borne the bitter fruit of his
wrong to this defenceless girl. Let her come back--she could not come
too soon--and face him with his faithlessness. He would tell her what
she had done, and bid her to forgive him or not, as she chose.

The wind was now at their backs, and having slackened its velocity
until it approximated their pace, it seemed to have died down
altogether, leaving them to glide along in a dead calm. Emmet looked
up at the stars, which had never seemed to shine with such peculiar
brilliancy, and thought of Leigh. There was the one man in whom he
could confide. None of his old acquaintances could be trusted with
such a vital secret. The astronomer bore no part in the struggles and
jealousies about him. His very occupation at that moment invested him
in Emmet's eyes with something of the impartiality and spiritual
aloofness of the seer. It did not occur to him to seek the help of the
confessional, to make his peace with the church from whose instruction,
even as a boy, he had fled to the public schools, in spite of his
mother's disapproval and the angry protests of his parish priest. That
very night he would go to Leigh, if not for advice, at least for
sympathy and understanding.

Immersed in such thoughts, he said little, but from time to time he
drew Lena to him and kissed her, not with his former intensity, but
with a softening sense of impending farewell. They had come within
sight of the towers of St. George's Hall, looming against the pale
horizon, when she threw him into sudden panic.

"Tom, dear," she said, "did you know that Miss Wycliffe took away the
ring you gave me?"

"Took it away?" he echoed.

"Yes; she said it belonged to her, and that she had lost it in the car.
Of course, I had to give it up." After vacillating in delicate
hesitation she went on. "I did