n to the house, so that, as he came nearer, he saw the little
room quite plainly in the red glow of the fire within, the curtains
being undrawn. He had a keen eye; did not fail to see the marks of
poverty about the place, the gateless fences, even the bare room with
its worn and patched carpet: noted it all with a triumphant gleam of
satisfaction. There was a black shadow passing and repassing the
windows: he waited a moment looking at it, then came more slowly
towards them, intenser heats smouldering in his face. He would not
surprise her; she should be as ready as he was for the meeting. If she
ever put her pure hand in his again, it should be freely done, and of
her own good-will.

She saw him as he came up on the porch, and stopped, looking out, as if
bewildered,--then resumed her walk, mechanically. What it cost her to
see him again he could not tell: her face did not alter. It was
lifeless and schooled, the eyes looking straight forward always,
indifferently. Was this his work? If he had killed her outright, it
would have been better than this.

The windows were low: it had been his old habit to go in through them,
and he now went up to one unconsciously. As he opened it, he saw her
turn away for an instant; then she waited for him, entirely tranquil,
the clear fire shedding a still glow over the room, no cry or shiver of
pain to show how his coming broke open the old wound. She smiled even,
when he leaned against the window, with a careless welcome.

Holmes stopped, confounded. It did not suit him,--this. If you know a
man's nature, you comprehend why. The bitterest reproach, or a proud
contempt would have been less galling than this gentle indifference.
His hold had slipped from off the woman, he believed. A moment before
he had remembered how he had held her in his arms, touched her cold
lips, and then flung her off,--he had remembered it, every nerve
shrinking with remorse and unutterable tenderness: now----! The utter
quiet of her face told more than words could do. She did not love him;
he was nothing to her. Then love was a lie. A moment before he could
have humbled himself in her eyes as low as he lay in his own, and
accepted her pardon as a necessity of her enduring, faithful nature:
now, the whole strength of the man sprang into rage, and mad desire of
conquest.

He came gravely across the room, holding out his hand with his old
quiet control. She might be cold and grave as he, but