ew the
depth of its meaning.

He was glad it was over, for if it had been to do again, he could not
have done it. His lips were parched, his throat was dry, his hands were
burning; he felt as though his head were shaking on his shoulders,
palsied by a blow. But such as the deed was, it had been well done, to
the end. The devil, if he cared for his own, would be pleased. He had
even kissed her. He knew what Judas had been, now, and what he had felt.

He did not know how long he stood there. It might have been a quarter of
an hour or more; but though he watched the clock's face, his eyes saw no
movement of the hands upon the dial. It seemed to him that the room was
dark.

Then the door opened again, and he started and looked round, fearing
lest Veronica might have come back--or her ghost, for he felt as though
he had killed her with his hands. But it was Matilde Macomer. She
glanced round the room and saw that Veronica was gone.

"Well?" she asked, coming swiftly forward to where Bosio was standing,
pale as death under her rouge.

He faced her stupidly, with heavy eyes, like a man drunk.

"It is all over" he said slowly.

She started forward, not understanding him.

"Over? Broken off?" she cried, in horror.

"Oh no!" he answered with a choking laugh, bad to hear. "It is done. It
is agreed. She accepts me."

Matilde drew breath, and pressed her hand to her left side for one
moment--she, who was so strong.

"You almost killed me!" she said, so low that Bosio hardly caught the
words.

Slowly she straightened herself, and the colour came back to her face,
blending with the tinge of the paint. He did not move, and she came and
stood near him, leaning her elbows upon the mantelpiece and turning to
him.

"You have saved me," she said. "I thank you."

Bad natures can be simple, if they are great enough, and Matilde spoke
simply, as she looked at him. She had been almost terrible to look at a
few moments earlier, with the rouge visible on her ghastly cheeks. No
one could have detected it now, and she was still splendid to see, as
she stood beside him, just bending her face upon her clasped hands while
her deep eyes melted in his.

He knew the difference between her and Veronica, and he straightened
himself, till he looked rigid, and an unnatural smile just wreathed his
lips, half hidden in his silky beard. He told himself that he had fallen
the last fall, to the very depths; yet he knew that there was a depth