of his teeth. It had been the
nearest thing he had ever known; for though once he had had a pistol
pointed at him, there was the chance that it might miss at half-a-dozen
yards, while there was no chance of the lever of the flume going wrong;
and water and a mill-wheel were as absolute as the rope of the gallows.

In a sense he had saved himself by his cleverness, but if Jean Jacques
had not been just the man he was, he could not have saved himself. It
did not occur to him that Jean Jacques had acted weakly. He would not
have done what Jean Jacques had done, had Jean Jacques spoiled his home.
He would have sprung the lever; but he was not so mean as to despise
Jean Jacques because he had foregone his revenge. This master-carpenter
had certain gifts, or he could not have caused so much trouble in the
world. There is a kind of subtlety necessary to allure or delude even
the humblest of women, if she is not naturally bad; and Masson had had
experiences with the humblest, and also with those a little higher up.
This much had to be said for him, that he did not think Jean Jacques
contemptible because he had been merciful, or degraded because he had
chosen to forgive his wife.

The sight of the woman, as she stood with arms outstretched, had made
his pulses pound in his veins, but the heat was suddenly chilled by the
wave of tragedy which had passed over him. When he had climbed out of
the flume, and opened the lever for the river to rush through, he had
felt as though ice--cold liquid flowed in his veins, not blood; and all
day he had been like that. He had moved much as one in a dream, and he
had felt for the first time in his life that he was not ready to bluff
creation. He had always faced things down, as long as it could be done;
and when it could not, he had retreated, with the comment that no man
was wise who took gruel when he needn't. He was now face to face with
his greatest problem. One thing was clear--they must either part for
ever, or go together, and part no more. There could be no half measures.
She was a remarkable woman in her way, with a will of her own, and a
kind of madness in her; and there could be no backing and filling. They
only had three minutes to talk together alone, and two of them were up.

Her arms were held out to him, but he stood still, and before the fire
of her eyes his own eyes dropped. "No, not yet!" he exclaimed. "It's
been a day--heaven and hell, what a day it's been! He had me like t