voices pleased his ear, and the
suavity of their manners, his taste. He was tired to death of the old
routine, weary beyond expression of the beaten track, of the sameness
of the old treadmill of thought. Here he had found variety.

For somewhat the same reason he had sought Pocahontas, charily at
first, dreading disappointment, but finally, as his interest deepened,
without reserve. She was different from other women, more candid, less
impressible. He could not discover what she thought of him, beyond her
surface interest in his talents and conversation. She piqued and
stimulated him; in her presence he exerted himself and appeared at his
best, which is always pleasant to a man. Even old thoughts, and
hackneyed theories donned new apparel when about to be presented to her
notice.

He had played with fire, and was forced now to admit that the fate of
the reckless had overtaken him. He loved her. The truth had been
dawning on his mind for weeks past, but he had put it aside, willfully
blinding himself because of his contentment with the present. Now,
self delusion was no longer possible; the report of his gun had blown
away the last rays of it forever. When Pocahontas lay well-nigh
senseless in his arms, when her fair face rested on his breast and her
breath touched his cheek, he knew, and acknowledged to himself that he
loved her with a passionate intensity such as in all his careless,
self-indulgent life he had never before felt for a woman.

And he had no right to love her; he was a married man.

When this idea flashed across his mind it almost stunned him. He had
been free in heart and mind so long that he had ceased to remember that
he was bound in fact. The substance had so withdrawn itself into the
background of his life that he had forgotten that the shadow still
rested on him. He was free, and he was bound. Thorne turned the idea
over in his mind, as one turns a once familiar thing that has grown
strange from being hidden long from sight. Was he a married
man?--undoubtedly--the idea appalled him.

Two years had passed since the separation and there had been no
divorce. Thorne had thought the matter out at the time, as a man must,
and had decided to wait, and to let any initial steps be taken by his
wife. He had no love left for her, and he realized with grim intensity
that their marriage had been a terrible mistake, but there was
sufficient chivalry if his nature to make him feel that the m