d yourself all these years, and now you're paying the
penalty."

"What penalty?"

"You've lost your splendid capacity for happiness; your health's
undermined; your faith in mankind is destroyed. Is it worth while?
You've plunged into the fight and you've won. What does your victory
mean? Can it compare with what you've lost? Here, I haven't a third of
what you have, and yet I'm magnificently happy. I don't envy you. I am
going to enjoy every moment of my life. Oh, my brother, you've been
making a sad mistake, but it's not too late! You're young, young. It's
not too late."

Then I saw that his words were true. I saw that I had never been meant
for the fierce battle of existence. Like those high-strung horses that
were the first to break their hearts on the trail, I was unsuited for it
all. Far better would I have been living the sweet, simple life of my
forefathers. My spirit had upheld me, but now I knew there was a poison
in my veins, that I was a sick man, that I had played the game and
won--at too great a cost. I was like a sprinter that breasts the tape,
only to be carried fainting from the field. Alas! I had gained success
only to find it was another name for failure.

"Now," said Garry, "you must come home. Back there on the countryside we
can find you a sweet girl to marry. You will love her, have children and
forget all this. Come."

I rose. I could no longer put it off.

"Excuse me one moment," I said. I parted the curtains and entered the
bedroom.

She was standing there, white to the lips and trembling. She looked at
me piteously.

"I'm afraid," she faltered.

"Be brave, little girl," I whispered, leading her forward. Then I threw
aside the curtain.

"Garry," I said, "this is--this is Berna."

CHAPTER XIX

Garry, Berna--there they stood, face to face at last. Long ago I had
visioned this meeting, planned for, yet dreaded it, and now with utter
suddenness it had come.

The girl had recovered her calm, and I must say she bore herself well.
In her clinging dress of simple white her figure was as slimly graceful
as that of a wood-nymph, her head poised as sweetly as a lily on its
stem. The fair hair rippled away in graceful lines from the fine brow,
and as she gazed at my brother there was a proud, high look in her eyes.

And Garry--his smile had vanished. His face was cold and stern. There
was a stormy antagonism in his bearing. No doubt he saw in her a
creature who was preying on me,