he knew that I counted on having you after he was
out of the way. And here is something else that you never knew, or
suspected. He believed that my love for you, my eagerness, my longing to
be free to call you back again, would be the means of releasing him from
the thing that was killing him. He counted on me to--I will put it as
gently as I can--to free myself. I believe in my soul that he married me
with that awful idea in his mind."

For a long time they were silent. Braden was staring at her, horror in his
eyes. She remained standing before him, motionless. Lutie's nurse passed
through the little hall outside, but they did not see or hear her. A door
closed softly; the faint crying of the baby went unheard.

"You are wrong there," he said at last, thickly. "I happen to know what
his motives were, Anne."

"Oh, I know," she said wearily. "To prove to you how utterly worthless I
am,--or was. Well, it may have been that. I hope it was. I would like to
think it of him instead of the other thing. I would like to think of him
as sacrificing himself for your sake, instead of planning to sacrifice me
for his sake. It is a terrible thought, Braden. He begged me to give him
those tablets, time and again. I--I couldn't have done that, not even with
you as the prize." She shuddered.

A queer, indescribable chill ran through his veins. "Do you--have you ever
thought that he may have held you out as a prize--for me?"

"You mean?" She went very white. "God above us, no! If I thought _that_,
Braden, then there would be something lying between us, something that
even such as I could not overcome."

"Just the same," he went on grimly, "he went to his death with a word of
praise on his lips for you, Anne. He told me you were deserving of
something better than the fate he had provided for you. He was sorry.
It--it may have been that he was pleading your cause, that--"

"I would like to think that of him," she cried eagerly, "even though his
praise fell upon deaf ears."

She turned away from him and sank wearily into a chair. For a minute or
two he stood there regarding her in silence. He was sorry for her. It had
taken a good deal of courage to humble herself in his eyes, as she had
done by her frank avowal.

"Is it any satisfaction to your pride, Anne," he said slowly, after
deliberate thought, "to know that I love you and always will love you, in
spite of everything?"

Her answer was a long time in coming, and it surprised