osition. Forgive me! Go, if you will, to my
mother--to Helen. She will need you--after she knows. You will,
perhaps, understand when I tell you that, for a time at least, I must
be by myself, and I am going to the little town where my own mother and
I, long ago, lived our strange life together. She seems to be there,
waiting for me.

Ledyard ate no dinner that night; he seemed broken and ill; he pushed
dish after dish aside, and finally left the table and the house.

Everything had failed him. All his life's work and hopes rustled past him
like dead things as he walked the empty streets.

"Truth and conviction," he muttered. "Who has them? The young ass! What
is truth? How can one be convinced? It's all bluff and a doing of one's
best!"

And then he reached Helen Travers's house and found her waiting for him.

"I have a--a note from Dick," she said. Ledyard saw that she had been
crying.

"Poor boy! He has gone to--his mother; his real mother. We"--she caught
her breath--"we have, somehow, failed him. He is in trouble."

"I wonder--why?" Ledyard murmured. Never had his voice held that tone
before. It startled even the sad woman.

"We have tried to do right--have loved him so," she faltered.

"Perhaps we have been too sure of ourselves, our traditions. Each
generation has its own ideals. We're only stepping-stones, but we like
to believe we're the--end-all!"

"That may be."

Then they sat with bowed heads in silence, until Ledyard spoke again.

"I'm going to retire, Helen. Without him, work would be--impossible.
His empty place would be a silent condemnation, a constant reminder,
of--mistakes."

"If he leaves me, I shall close this house. I could not live--without him
here. I never envied his mother before. I have pitied, condoned her, but
to-night I envy her from my soul!"

"Helen"--and here Ledyard got up and walked the length of the room
restlessly; he was about to put his last hope to the test--"Helen, this
world is--too new for us; for you and me. We belong back where the light
is not so strong and things go slower! We get--blinded and breathless and
confused. I have nothing left, nor have you. Will you come with me to
that crack in the Alps, as Dick used to call it, and let me--love you?"

"Oh! John Ledyard! What a man you are!"

"Exactly! _What_ a man I am! A poor, rough fool, always loving what was
best; never daring to risk anything for it. I'm tired to death----"

She was beside hi