houghtfully upon his friend, who, absorbed in his
own reflections, seemed to have forgotten his presence. Then he went
slowly away, revolving the matter in his mind.

While avoiding the least shadow of false statement, Desmond had
succeeded in shielding his wife from the one serious implication
suggested by her conduct, or at least would have so succeeded, but for
the tell-tale crash of glass upon the hearth-stone. Yet the most vivid
impression left on Paul by their short interview was the look in
Theo's eyes when he had asked that one abrupt question about Honor
Meredith.

Was it possible----? Was it even remotely possible----?

Wyndham reined in the involuntary thought, as a man reins in his horse
on the brink of a precipice. Common loyalty to the friend he loved,
with the unspoken love of half a lifetime, forbade him to look that
shrouded possibility frankly in the face.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE LOSS OF ALL.

"The loss of all love has to give,
Save pardon for love wronged."
--O. MEREDITH.

"Here I am, Theo. Honor says you want to see me."

Evelyn Desmond closed the door behind her; and at sight of her husband
transformed into his very self--freed at last from all disfigurements--she
ran to him with outstretched arms.

"Theo, are you really all right again? I can hardly believe it."

But Desmond had no answer to give her. He simply squared his right
arm, warding off her hands.

Then she saw the hard lines of his mouth, the inexpressible pain in
his eyes; and, clutching at his rigid forearm, tried to force it down.
She might as well have tried to shift a bar of iron.

"What's the matter with you now?" she asked, half petulant, half
fearful. "Has anything else gone wrong? Haven't we had enough misery
and depression----?"

"There's no more call for acting, Evelyn," Desmond interposed with an
ominous quietness more disconcerting than anger--"Doesn't your own
conscience tell you what may have gone wrong?"

At that the colour left her face. "You mean--is it about--me?" she
asked with shaking lips.

"Yes. About you." Her pitiful aspect softened him; he took her arm and
set her gently down upon a chair;--the selfsame chair that Paul had
occupied half an hour ago. "Don't be frightened," he said gently; "I
won't hurt you more than I must. Ever since we married I have done my
utmost to help you, spare you, shield you; but now--we've got to
arrive at a clear understand