of greeting
were over. Beside Clayton he looked small, dapper, and wretchedly
uncomfortable, and yet even Clayton had to acknowledge a sort of dignity
in the man.

He felt sorry for him, for the disillusion that was to come. And at the
same time he felt an angry contempt for him, that he should have forced
so theatrical a situation. That the night which saw Graham's beginning
recovery should be tarnished by the wild clutch after happiness of two
people who had done so little to earn it.

He saw another, totally different scene, for a moment. He saw Graham in
his narrow bed that night in some dimly-lighted hospital ward, and he
saw Audrey beside him, watching and waiting and praying. A wild desire
to be over there, one of that little group, almost overcame him. And
instead--

"Natalie has not been well, Rodney," he said. "I rather think, if you
have anything to say to me, we would better talk alone."

Natalie went out, her draperies trailing behind her. Clayton listened,
as she moved slowly up the stairs. For the last time he heard that
soft rustling which had been the accompaniment to so many of the most
poignant hours of his life. He listened until it had died away.

CHAPTER XLIX

For months Rudolph Klein had been living in a little Mexican town on the
border. There were really two towns, but they were built together with
only a strip of a hundred feet between. Along this strip ran the
border itself, with a tent pitched on the American side, and patrols of
soldiers guarding it. The American side was bright and clean, orderly
and self-respecting, but only a hundred feet away, unkempt, dusty, with
adobe buildings and a notorious gambling-hell in plain view, was Mexico
itself--leisurely, improvident, not overscrupulous Mexico.

At first Rudolph was fairly contented. It amused him. He liked the
idleness of it. He liked kicking the innumerable Mexican dogs out of
his way. He liked baiting the croupiers in the "Owl." He liked wandering
into that notorious resort and shoving Hindus, Chinamen, and Mexicans
out of the way, while he flung down a silver dollar and watched the
dealers with cunning, avaricious eyes.

He liked his own situation, too. It amused him to think that here he was
safe, while only a hundred feet away he was a criminal, fugitive from
the law. He liked to go to the very border itself, and jeer at the men
on guard there.

"If I was on that side," he would say, "you'd have me in one of those
r