with its crumbling of dust and its
confusion of tongues, she tumbled headlong from her pinnacle of
strength.

"Oh, don't, please!" she moaned, and then in torrents came the tears;
in an incoherent toppling of sound, the little cries of her weeping
rushed from her; and Traill, hurled from the sling of impulse, was
kneeling at her feet.

"I'm awfully sorry," he kept on saying; "I'm awfully sorry."

Even then he but vaguely understood, had not rightly guessed the
verge upon which she was treading. It was not that she feared he might
guess the secret in her heart. If, as she half believed, he loved
her too, what real harm could be done by that? It was the fear that,
in this unsexing moment of hysteria, she might lose all control,
pitch all reserve and modesty into the flood-tide of her emotions,
and lose him for ever in the unnatural whirlwind of her passion.
Against that she fought, needing only the release from the tension
of his questions. When he began, in his futile efforts to make amends,
to ply them again, she rose hurriedly to her feet.

"Can I go into the other room for a moment?" she asked; "or will you
go and leave me here alone--just for a minute or two?"

He stood up. "I'll do anything you like," he said.

"Then, go--just for a moment."

The door had scarcely closed behind him before she sank back again
into the chair, shaking with the passion of tears. When they ran dry,
she rose and crossed the room to the window, throwing it open. The
cold air blew refreshingly on to her face. She pressed back the hair
from her temples to let it reach her forehead. It was like ice-water
on the burning pulses of her nerves. She took deep breaths of it,
thankful from her heart for the release. When, at last, Traill
knocked upon the door, she could turn with brave assurance and bid
him enter. He came in with questioning eyes that lost their
querulousness the moment they had found her face.

"You're better?" he said at once.

"Yes." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm absolutely all right now."

He looked at her eyes, red with weeping. He knew she had been
crying--had heard her sobs from the other room. Part of her secret
then, at least, he had realized. She was fond of him. How fond, it
would be more or less impossible to divine; but it must be nipped
there--strangled utterly--if he were to fulfil her expectations of
him. What it was that pressed him to the sacrifice, he could not
actually say; unless it were that it app