he
spiritual conflict that raged within Martin Howe's soul. It was like
witnessing the writhings of a creature in torture.

He did not attempt to precipitate a decision by interfering. When,
however, he had been a silent spectator of the struggle so long that he
perceived Martin had forgotten his very existence, he ventured to speak.

"Maybe I'd better leave you to reconsider your resolution, Howe," he
remarked.

"I--yes--it might be better."

"Perhaps after you've thought things out, you'll change your mind."

Martin did not reply. The lawyer rose and took up his hat.

"How long before you've got to know?" inquired Martin hoarsely.

"Oh, I can give you time," answered Mr. Benton easily. "A week, say--how
will that do?"

"I shan't need as long as that," Martin replied, looking before him with
set face. "I shall know by to-morrow what I am going to do."

"There's no such hurry as all that."

"I shall know by to-morrow," repeated the younger man in the same dull
voice. "All the time in the universe won't change things after that."

Mr. Benton made no response. When in his imaginings he had pictured the
scene, he had thought that after the first shock of surprise was over, he
and Martin would sit down together sociably and discuss each petty detail
of the remarkable comedy. But comedy had suddenly become tragedy--a
tragedy very real and grim--and all desire to discuss it had ebbed away.

As he moved toward the door, he did not even put out his hand; on the
contrary, whispering a hushed good night and receiving no reply to it, he
softly let himself out and disappeared through the afternoon shadows.

If Martin were conscious of his departure, he at least gave no sign of
being so, but continued to stand motionless in the same spot where Mr.
Benton had left him, his hands gripped tightly behind his back, and his
head thrust forward in thought.

Silently the hours passed. The sun sank behind the hills, tinting the
ridge of pines to copper and leaving the sky a sweep of palest blue in
which a single star trembled.

Still Martin did not move. Once he broke into a smothered cry:

"I cannot! My God! I cannot!"

The words brought Jane to the door.

"Martin!" she called.

There was no answer and, turning the knob timidly, she came in.

"Oh!" she ejaculated. "How you frightened me! I didn't know there was
anybody here. Don't you want a light?"

"No."

"Has--has Mr. Benton gone?"

"Yes."

"That's good. Su