he tide of reaction swept over him. The glamour of
conquest had passed, and there remained only the shame, the treachery
and the remorse.

With a curse of anguish he flung himself down upon the floor, and lay
groveling with his face in the dust. The moments flew by unheeded. An
hour passed. The electric lamps were turned on, and a white ray of light
shot in through the half-curtained window. The little clock on the
mantel chimed the hour.

The sound roused him. Starting to his feet he gazed stupidly about him
for a moment as if undecided what to do, then seizing his hat from the
wall rack he hurried out through the studio and the dark hall-way
without pausing to remove his working jacket, or to lock the door. Out
into the street where people were hurrying home, chattering and
laughing, and glancing only for a second at the figure in the velvet
studio coat and broad hat, wondering a little at the dark, intense face
that flashed so swiftly past them toward the glare and confusion of the
business center.

He did not know where he was going. He did not care. He was trying to
get away from himself. He walked faster and faster; twice he started to
run.

He was drawing nearer to the bustle of the city. Small shops were
scattered along between the rows of brick dwellings, and at one corner
the light of a saloon flared out upon the pavement. Entering, he called
for brandy. The bar-keeper stared at him and set out a bottle and a
glass. Twice he filled it to the brim and drank it off with hardly a
pause between. Then, throwing down a silver dollar, he hastened out
without waiting for change.

The shops were getting thicker and larger. Dwelling-houses were fewer
and more old fashioned. Here and there newsboys were crying the evening
papers. Street-cars, filled with lights and faces, rolled swiftly by him
and in front of him, jangling their bells. The buzz and whirl of the
city was around him. He was drawing near to its great, throbbing heart.

Splendid shop windows threw a flood of light upon the pavement, making
it like day. The shouts of the newsboys and street venders, the jangling
of the car-bells, the rushing cabs and carriages, the hurrying crowds,
the brilliant lights, the liquor in his brain, all whirled together and
sent the blood racing through his arteries, tingling to the surface now
and again in burning waves of misery and shame.

People paused for a moment to look at the strange figure, and hurried
on. Everyb