hought of glory and
of power, of which he had once dreamed. Now he wanted gold. Beauty would
fade, culture prove futile; but gold was king, and all he saw bowed
before it. Why marry a poor girl when another had wealth?

He found a girl as handsome as Catherine Trelane. It was not a chapter
in his history in which he took much pride. Just when he thought he had
succeeded, her father had interposed and she had yielded easily. She had
married a fool with ten times Livingstone's wealth. It was a blow to
Livingstone, but he had recovered, and after that he had a new incentive
in life; he would be richer than her father or her husband.

He had become so and had bought his house partly to testify to the
fact. Then he had gone back to Catherine Trelane. She had come
unexpectedly into property. He had not dared quite to face her, but had
written to her, asking her to marry him. He had her reply somewhere now;
it had cut deeper than she ever knew or would know. She wrote that the
time had been when she might have married him even had he asked her by
letter, but it was too late now. The man she might have loved was dead.
He had gone to see her then, but had found what she said was true. She
was more beautiful than when he had last seen her--so beautiful that the
charm of her maturity had almost eclipsed in his mind the memory of her
girlish loveliness. But she was inexorable. He had not blamed her, he
had only cursed himself, and had plunged once more into the boiling
current of the struggle for wealth. And he had won--yes, won!

With a shock those figures slipped before his eyes and would not go
away. Even when he shut his eyes and rubbed them the ghastly line was
there.

He turned and gazed down the long room. It was as empty as a desert. He
listened to see if he could hear any sound, even hoping to hear some
sound from his servants. All was as silent as a tomb.

He rubbed his eyes, with a groan that was almost a curse. The figures
were still there.

He suddenly rose to his feet and gave himself a shake. He determined to
go to his club; he would find company there,--perhaps not the best, but
it would be better than this awful loneliness and deadly silence.

He went through the hall softly, almost stealthily; put on his hat and
coat; let himself quietly out of the door and stepped forth into the
night.

It had stopped snowing and the stars looked down from a clearing sky.
The moon just above the housetops was sailing alo