ve a
particular woman, he'd have been also the sort of weakling that leaves a
letter explaining."

"What then did he die for? You'll have to explain to me. Not because he
couldn't have her; not because he felt guilty. Why, then? You haven't
left him a motive."

"Oh, haven't I? The most beautiful motive in the whole world, my dear
fellow. A motive that puts all your little simple motives in the shade."

"Well, what?"

"Don't you see? Why, I told you. He simply assumed, for all practical
purposes, that she had been right. He gave himself the fate he knew she
considered him to deserve. He preferred--loving her as he did--to do
what she would have had him do. He knew she was wrong; but he knew also
that she was made that way, that she would never be right. And he took
her for what she was, and loved her as she was. His love--don't you
see?--was too big. He couldn't revolt from her: she had the whole of
him--except, perhaps, his excellent judgment. He couldn't drag about a
life which she felt that way about. He destroyed it, as he would have
destroyed anything she found loathsome. He was merely justifying himself
to his love. He couldn't hope she would know. Nor, I believe, could he
have lied to her. That is, he couldn't have admitted in words that she
was right, when he felt her so absolutely wrong; but he could make that
magnificent silent act of faith."

Chantry still held out. "I don't believe he did it. I hold with the
coroner."

"I don't. He came as near telling me as he could without making me an
accessory before the fact. There were none of the loose ends that the
most orderly man would leave if he died suddenly. Take my word for it,
old man."

A long look passed between them. Each seemed to be trying to find out
with his eyes something that words had not helped him to.

Finally Chantry protested once more. "But Ferguson couldn't love like
that."

Havelock the Dane laid one hand on the arm of Chantry's chair and spoke
sternly. "He not only could, but did. And there I am a better authority
than you. Think what you please, but I will not have that fact
challenged. Perhaps you could count up on your fingers the women who are
loved like that; but, anyhow, she was. My second cousin once removed,
damn her!" He ended with a vicious twang.

"And now"--Havelock rose--"I'd like your opinion."

"About what?"

"Well, can't you see the beautiful sanity of Ferguson?"

"No, I can't," snapped Chantry. "I think he w