will fight like a man, I will kill him to
please myself. Now I will go and get a carriage and take you home."

He rose to his feet and, turning, turned away from her, going toward the
corner to get an overcoat. She followed him with her eyes, in silence.

"You are not afraid to be left alone for a quarter of an hour?" he
asked, buttoning his coat, and looking toward his umbrella.

"Do not go just yet," she answered softly.

"I must. It is getting late. I shall not find a carriage if I wait any
longer. I must go now."

"Do not go."

She heard him breathe hard once or twice. Then with quick strides he was
beside her, and speaking to her.

"Gloria, I cannot stand it--I warn you. I love you in a way you cannot
understand. You must not keep me here."

"Do not go," she said again, in the deep, soft tone of her golden voice.

"I must."

He turned from her and went towards the door. Soft and swift she
followed him, but he was in the entry before her hand was on his arm. It
was almost dusk out there. He stopped.

"I cannot go back to him," she said, and he could see the light in her
eyes, and very faintly the red bar across the face he loved.

"You should--there is nowhere else for you to go," he said, and in the
dark his hand was finding the bolt of the door to the stairs.

"No--there is nowhere else--I cannot go back to him," she answered, and
the voice quavered uncertainly as the night breeze sighing amongst
reeds.

"You must--you must," he tried to say.

Her weight was all upon his arm, but it was nothing to him. He steadily
drew back the bolt. He turned up his face so that he could not see her.

With sudden strength her white hands went round his sinewy dark throat
as he threw back his head.

"You are all I have in the world!" she half said, half whispered. "I
will not let you go!"

"You?" His voice broke out as through a bursting shell.

"Yes. Come back!"

His arm fell like lead to his side. Gently she drew him back to the door
of the study. The blaze of the fire shot into her face.

"Come," she said. "See how well it burns."

"Yes," he said, mechanically, "it is burning well."

He stood aside an instant at the door to let her pass. His eyelids
closed and his face became rigid as a death mask of a man dead in
passion. One moment only; then he followed her and softly shut the
door.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE brilliant winter morning had an intoxicating quality in it, after
the heavy rain w