a little more of you. It was to get at you and not
myself that I wanted to see again. So I saw again. I let go of myself
and reached out for you. So now--why, everything is quite clear."

She raised her head.

"Clear, Peter?"

"Quite clear. I'm to go back to my work, and to use my eyes less and my
head and heart more. I 'm to deal less with statutes and more with
people. Instead of quoting precedents, perhaps I 'm going to try to
establish precedents. There's work enough to be done, God knows, of a
sort that is born of just such a year as this I 've lived through. I
must let go of myself and let myself go. I must think less of my own
ambitions and more of the ambitions of others. So I shall live in
others. Perhaps I may even be able to live a little through you two."

"Peter!" she cried.

"For Covington must come back to you as fast as ever he can."

"No! No! No!"

"You don't understand how much he loves his wife."

"Please!"

"And, he, poor devil, does n't understand how much his wife loves him."

"You--you"--she trembled aghast--"you would n't dare repeat what I've
told you!"

"You don't want to stagger on in the dark any longer. You'll let me tell
him."

She rose to her feet, her face white.

"Peter," she said slowly, "if ever you told him that, I'd never forgive
you. If ever you told him, I 'd deny it. You 'd only force me into more
lies. You'd only crush me lower."

"Steady, Marjory," he said.

"You're wonderful, Peter!" she exclaimed. "You 've--you 've been seeing
visions. But when you speak of telling him what I've told you, you don't
understand how terrible that would be. Peter--you'll promise me you
won't do that?"

She was pleading, with panic in her eyes.

"Yet, if he knew, he'd come racing to you."

"He'd do that because he's a gentleman and four-square. He'd come to me
and pretend. He'd feel himself at fault, and pity me. Do you know how
it hurts a woman to be pitied? I'd rather he'd hate me. I'd rather he'd
forget me altogether.",

"But what of the talks I had with him in the dark?" he questioned. "When
he talked to me of you then, it was not in pity."

"Because,"--she choked,--"because he does n't know himself as I know him.
He--he does n't like changes--dear Monte. It disturbed him to go because
it would have been so much easier to have stayed. So, for the moment, he
may have been--a bit sentimental."

"You don't think as little of him as that!" h