sometimes
prevent the pulse of her own life from stirring. Her eye wandered round
the room--Aldous's familiar room. There, on the writing-table with its
load of letters and books, stood the photograph of Hallin; another, her
own, used to stand beside it; it was solitary now.

Otherwise, all was just as it had been--flowers, books, newspapers--the
signs of familiar occupation, the hundred small details of character and
personality which in estrangement take to themselves such a smarting
significance for the sad and craving heart. The date--the
anniversary--echoed in her mind.

Then, with a rush of remorseful pain, her thoughts came back to the
present and to Hallin. At the same moment she saw that his eyes were
open, and fixed upon her with a certain anxiety and expectancy. He made
a movement as though to draw her towards him; and she stooped to him.

"I feel," he said, "as though my strength were leaving me fast. Let me
ask you one question--because of my love for you--and _him_. I have
fancied--of late--things were changed. Can you tell me--will you?--or is
it unfair?"--the words had all their bright, natural intonation--"Is
your heart--still where it was?--or, could you ever--undo the past--"

He held her fast, grasping the hand she had given him with unconscious
force. She had looked up startled, her lip trembling like a child's.
Then she dropped her head against the arm of her chair, as though she
could not speak.

He moved restlessly, and sighed.

"I should not," he said to himself; "I should not--it was wrong. The
dying are tyrannous."

He even began a word of sweet apology. But she shook her head.

"Don't!" she said, struggling with herself; "don't say that! It would do
me good to speak--to you--"

An exquisite smile dawned on Hallin's face.

"Then!"--he said--"confess!"

* * * * *

A few minutes later they were still sitting together. She strongly
wished to go; but he would not yet allow it. His face was full of a
mystical joy--a living faith, which must somehow communicate itself in
one last sacramental effort.

"How strange that you--and I--and he--should have been so mixed together
in this queer life. Now I seem to regret nothing--I _hope_ everything.
One more little testimony let me bear!--the last. We disappear one by
one--into the dark--but each may throw his comrades--a token--before he
goes. You have been in much trouble of mind and spirit--I have seen it.