you?"

"I haven't. Any one may get a sunstroke. In two or three weeks you'll be
laughing at all this. Directly it passes you'll forget it."

"But I have a feeling sometimes that--it's a feeling--of death."

"When? When?"

"Last night, in the night. I felt like a man just simply going out."

"I never ought to have let Doctor Hartley go. But you said you wanted to
be alone with me, didn't you, Nigel?"

"Yes. I felt somehow that Hartley could be of no use--that no ordinary
man could do anything. I felt as if it were Fate, and as if you and I
must fight it together. I felt as if--perhaps--our love--"

The voice died away.

Isaacson clenched his hands, and moved a step backward. The shivering
pariah dog slunk away, fearing a blow.

"What was that?" Nigel said.

"Did you hear something?"

"Yes--a step."

"Oh, it's one of the men, no doubt. Shall I play to you a little more?"

"Can you without putting on the light? I'm afraid of the light now
and--and how I used to love it!"

"I'll manage."

"But you'll have to take away your hand! Wait a minute. Oh, Ruby, it's
terrible! To-night I feel like a man on the edge of an abyss, and as if,
without a hand, I must fall--I--"

Isaacson heard a dry, horrid sound, that was checked almost at once.

"I never--never thought I should come to this, Ruby."

"Never mind, dearest. Any one--"

"Yes--yes--I know. But I hate--it isn't like a man to--Go and play to me
again."

"I won't play 'Gerontius.' It makes you think sad things, dreadful
things."

"No, play it again. It was on your piano that day I called--in London. I
shall always associate it with you."

The dress rustled. She was getting up.

Isaacson hesitated no longer. He went instantly up the bank. When he had
reached the top he stood still for a moment. His breath came quickly.
Below, the piano sounded. Bella Donna had not seen him, had not, without
seeing him, divined his presence. He might go while she played, and she
would never know he had been there eavesdropping in the night. No one
would ever know. And to-morrow, with the sun, he could come back openly,
defying her request. He could come back boldly and ask for his friend.

"Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo!"

He would come back and see the face that went with that changed voice,
that voice which he had hardly recognized.

"Go forth upon thy journey, Christian soul! Go from this world!"

He moved to go away to those far-off lights whi