she was a mere child, and probably the concealment had gone
through all her first married life. And no doubt her reason for marrying
him, which she admitted was a very strong one, had been that she might
have money to give to the child--and its father.

The sickening--sickening, squalid tragedy of it all!

And she, Zara, had seemed so proud and so pure! Her look of scorn, only
the night before, at his jealous accusation, came back to him. He could
not remember a single movement nor action of hers that had not been that
of an untarnished queen. What horrible actresses women were! His whole
belief had crumbled to the dust.

And the most terrible part of it all to him was the knowledge that in
spite of everything he still loved her--loved her with a consuming,
almighty passion that he knew nothing now could kill. It had been put
to the bitterest proof. Whatever she had done he could love no other
woman.

Then he realized that his life was over. The future a blank,
unutterable, hopeless gray which must go on for years and years. For he
could never come back to her again, nor even live in the house with her,
under the semblance of things.

Then an agonizing bitterness came to him, the hideous malevolence of
fate, not to have let him meet this woman first before this other man;
think of the faithfulness of her nature, with all its cruel actions to
himself! She had been absolutely faithful to her lover, and had defended
herself from his--Tristram's--caresses, even of her finger-tips. What a
love worth having, what a strong, true character--worth dying for--in a
woman!

And now, he must never see her again; or, if once more, only for a
business meeting, to settle things without scandal to either of them.

He would not go back to Park Lane, yet--not for a week; he would give
her time to see to the funeral, without the extra pain of his presence.

The man had taken him for the doctor, and she had not even been aware of
his entrance: he would go back to Wrayth, alone, and there try to think
out some plan. So he searched among the covered-up furniture for his
writing table, and found some paper, and sat down and wrote two notes,
one to his mother. He could not face her to-day--she must go without
seeing him--but he knew his mother loved him, and, in all deep moments,
never questioned his will even if she did not understand it.

The note to her was very short, merely saying something was troubling
him greatly for the time,