asional uneasy shifting of feet.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in a small room across the hall, by a window through which
the autumn sun streamed with a tepid brightness, Reginald Brune lay on a
narrow sofa. His coat and waistcoat were thrown open; his chest was
bared. Gerard Fane, the great discoverer of hidden diseases, raised
himself from a bent posture, and spoke some words in a clear, even
voice.

Brune lifted himself half up on his elbow, and began mechanically to
button the collar of his shirt. His long fingers did not tremble, though
his face was very pale.

He fastened the collar, arranged his loose tie, and then sat up slowly.

A boy, clanking two shining milk-cans, passed along the pavement,
whistling a music-hall song. The shrill melody died down the street, and
Brune listened to it until there was a silence. Then he looked up at
the man opposite to him, and said, as one dully protesting, without
feeling, without excitement:--

"But, doctor, I was only married three weeks ago."

Gerard Fane gave a short upward jerk of the head, and said nothing. His
face was calmly grave. His glittering brown eyes were fastened on his
patient. His hands were loosely folded together.

Brune repeated, in a sightly raised voice:--

"I was married three weeks ago. It cannot be true."

"I am here to tell the truth," the other replied.

"But it is so--so ironic. To allow me to start a new life--a beautiful
life--just as the night is coming. Why, it is diabolical; it is not
just; the cruelty of it is fiendish."

A spot of gleaming red stained each of the speaker's thin cheeks. He
clenched his hands together, riveting his gaze on the doctor, as he went
on:--

"Can't you see what I mean? I had no idea--I had not the faintest
suspicion of what you say. And I have had a very hard struggle. I have
been poor and quite friendless. I have had to fight, and I have lost
much of the good in my nature by fighting, as we often do. But at last I
have won the battle, and I have won more. I have won goodness to give
me back some of my illusions. I had begun to trust life again. I had--"

He stopped abruptly. Then he said:--

"Doctor, are you married?"

"No," the other answered; and there was a note of pity in his voice.

"Then you can't understand what your verdict means to me. Is it
irrevocable?"

Gerard Fane hesitated.

"I wish I could hope not; but--"

"But--?"

"It is."

Brune stood up. His