her hand from his.

"Not yet," he returned, detaining her. "There is something more I want
to do." He paused. "My dear," he said softly, "an hour ago I would not
have married you even if I had been sane. Now I want to marry you
although I am mad. But, since that cannot be, there is something else."
He released her, and stood up. "I want you always to look like that," he
said. "I want you to forget that you have ever tried to disguise
yourself. I want to make it possible for you to go through the rest of
your life with your heart in its proper place."

He took his check book from his pocket.

"No, no," she said quickly--"not that."

"Please," he insisted.

"I would have taken it before," she said, forcing back her tears. "But
not now."

"You must," he declared. "My money is no use to me. I can't do anything
worth doing with it. With all my fantastic extravagancies, I only spend
a small part of my income. The rest has been accumulating for years. I
shall never use it, and when I die it will pass to some one I have never
seen. It is doing no good--and I want it to do some good. What better
thing could I do with it than give it ... to the woman I would marry if
I could?"

She sprang up.

"For God's sake," she cried, "don't say that! I can't bear it!"

He laid a hand again on her shoulder.

"Do you care?" he asked slowly. "I don't think you cared before. I
thought you were only sorry for me now. Do you really care?"

"I do care!" she cried recklessly. "I care--and care--and care. My God,
how I care!"

He turned his face upwards, and over it passed a dreadful, mocking
smile.

"O God of Mercy!" he muttered--"another torment!"

He drew away from her.

"I shall do this for you," he said firmly. "I intend to do this. And
then we must not see each other again. I hope that when you marry, as
you must, you will marry a good, clean man--a man who can stand out
among his fellow-creatures, and need not shrink away from them, as I
must. I want you to be very happy and bring happy children to the
world...." His voice shook. "And forget there are unfortunate people in
it ... who may only gaze hungrily over the gulf that they can never
cross."

He left her sobbing, and went to his writing table.

"No one will know," he said. "I will draw it to myself. The bank is
quite close here. I will walk there and cash it at once."

He wrote the check, and rose.

"Wait for me here," he said. "I shall only be a few minutes." A