hree o'clock in the morning. The significance of these nightly
indications of sleeplessness on her part did not escape him.

Bitterly cold and blustering were some of the nights. He sought warmth and
shelter from time to time in the near-by cafes, always returning to his
post when the call became irresistible. It was his practice to go to the
cheap and lowly cafes, places where he was not likely to be known despite
his long residence in the community. He did not drink. It had, of course,
occurred to him that he might find solace in resorting to the cup that
cheers, but never for an instant was he tempted to do so. He was too
strong for that!

Curiosity led him one night to the restaurant of Josiah Wade. He did not
enter, but stood outside peering through the window. It was late at night
and old Wade was closing the place. A young woman whom Thorpe took to be
his wife was chatting amiably with a stalwart youth near the cash
register. He did not fail to observe the furtive, shifty glances that Wade
shot out from under his bushy eyebrows in the direction of the couple.

He knew, through Simmy, that the last of Templeton Thorpe's money would
soon pass from Anne's hands. A million and a half was gone. The time for
the last to go was rapidly approaching. She would soon be poorer than when
she entered upon the infamous enterprise. There would still remain to her
the house in which she lived. It was not a part of the purchase price. It
was outside of the bargain she had made, and the right to sell it was
forbidden her. But possesion of it was a liability rather than an asset.
He wondered what she would do when it came down to the house in which she
lived.

Again and again he apostrophized himself as follows: "My God, what am I
coming to? Is this madness? Am I as George Tresslyn was, am I no nobler
than he? Or was he noble in spite of himself, and am I noble in the same
sense? If I am mad with love, if I am weak and accursed by consequences,
why should not she be weaker than I? She is a woman. I am--or was--a man.
Why should I sink to such a state as this and she remain brave and strong
and resolute? She keeps away from me, why should I not stay away from her?
God knows I have tried to resist this thing that she resists, and what
have I come to? A street loafer, a spy, a sneak, a dog without a master.
She is doing a big thing, and I am doing the smallest thing that man can
do. She loves me and longs for me and--Oh, what damned