he gay things
that are in it, perhaps because I had no real moral sense. Isn't it
strange that out of the thing which the world would condemn as most
immoral, as the very degradation of the heart and soul and body, there
should spring up a new sense that is moral--perhaps the first true
glimmering of it? Oh, dear love of my life, comrade of my soul,
something has come to me which I never had before, and for that,
whatever comes, my lifelong gratitude must be yours! What I now feel
could never have come except through fire and tears, as you yourself
say, and I know so well that the fire is at my feet, and the tears--I
wept them all last night, when I too wanted to die.

"You are coming at eleven to-day, Ian--at eleven. It is now eight. I
will try and send this letter to reach you before you leave your rooms.
If not, I will give it to you when you come--at eleven. Why did you not
say noon--noon--twelve of the clock? The end and the beginning! Why did
you not say noon, Ian? The light is at its zenith at noon, at twelve;
and the world is dark at twelve--at midnight. Twelve at noon; twelve at
night; the light and the dark--which will it be for us, Ian? Night or
noon? I wonder, oh, I wonder if, when I see you I shall have the
strength to say, 'Yes, go, and come again no more.' Or whether, in
spite of everything, I shall wildly say, 'Let us go away together.'
Such is the kind of woman that I am. And you--dear lover, tell me truly
what kind of man are you?

"Your JASMINE."

He read the letter slowly, and he stopped again and again as though to
steady himself. His face became strained and white, and once he poured
brandy and drank it off as though it were water. When he had finished
the letter he went heavily over to the fire and dropped it in. He
watched it burn, until only the flimsy carbon was left.

"If I had not gone till noon," he said aloud, in a nerveless voice--"if
I had not gone till noon ... Fellowes--did she--or was it Byng?"

He was so occupied with his thoughts that he was not at first conscious
that some one was knocking.

"Come in," he called out at last.

The door opened and Rudyard Byng entered.

"I am going to South Africa, Stafford," he said, heavily. "I hear that
you are going, too; and I have come to see whether we cannot go out
together."

CHAPTER XXVII

KROOL

"A message from Mr. Byng to say that he may be a little late, but he
says will you go on without him? He will come as soon