mon mortal under the impression that she was an angel.
Was it likely that now, in middle life, he would find a woman who would
rouse the deepest of his emotions or satisfy the needs of his life?

Why should he expect to find at forty, what few men meet in the prime of
youth? All that he could expect now--hope for--was standing there
waiting for him. Waiting with blushes, timid, dawning hope; full of
trust and so pathetically humble!

He took her into his arms and spoke, and his voice was steady but very
low and a little husky.

"There is no time to talk now. But you shall not go out into the
wilderness of life, if you are afraid."

She pressed her face closer to him--in answer.

"If you want to, if you care to--come to me, I shall not refuse you a
home. You understand?"

She did fully understand. Her mother's letter had made it clearer than
ever to her that marriage with somebody sufficiently well off is a haven
of refuge for a woman, a port to be steered for with all available
strength.

Suddenly and unexpectedly Gwen had found herself in harbour, and the
stormy sea passed.

"Run up to your room now," he said, "and bathe your face and come down
to the drawing-room as if nothing had happened."

He did not kiss her. A thought, such as only disturbs a man of
scrupulous honour, came to him. He was so much older than she was that
she must have time to think--she must come to him and ask for what he
could give her--not, as she was just now--convulsed with grief; she must
come quietly and confidently and with her mind made up. There must be no
working upon her emotions, no urgency of his own will over a weaker
will; no compulsion such as a strong man can exercise over a weak woman.

He pushed her gently away, and she raised her head, smiling through her
tears and murmuring something: what was it? Was it "Thanks;" but she
did not look him in the face, she dare not meet those narrow blue eyes
that were bent upon her.

He stood watching her as she moved lightly to the door. There she turned
back, and even then she did not raise her eyes to his face, but she
smiled a strange bewildered smile into the air and fled.

It was really _she_ who had conquered, and with such feeble weapons.

She had gone. The door was closed. The Warden was alone.

He looked round the room, at the book-lined walls, at his desk strewn
with papers, and then the whole magnitude and meaning of what he had
done--came to him!

He took out hi