surrounding peace.

He said with villainous composure:

"At any rate it isn't enough for me. I want to know more--if you're
going to stay."

"There is nothing more to tell," she answered, sadly.

It struck him as so very true that he did not say anything. She went on:

"You wouldn't understand. . . ."

"No?" he said, quietly. He held himself tight not to burst into howls
and imprecations.

"I tried to be faithful . . ." she began again.

"And this?" he exclaimed, pointing at the fragments of her letter.

"This--this is a failure," she said.

"I should think so," he muttered, bitterly.

"I tried to be faithful to myself--Alvan--and . . . and honest to
you. . . ."

"If you had tried to be faithful to me it would have been more to the
purpose," he interrupted, angrily. "I've been faithful to you and you
have spoiled my life--both our lives . . ." Then after a pause the
unconquerable preoccupation of self came out, and he raised his voice to
ask resentfully, "And, pray, for how long have you been making a fool of
me?"

She seemed horribly shocked by that question. He did not wait for an
answer, but went on moving about all the time; now and then coming up to
her, then wandering off restlessly to the other end of the room.

"I want to know. Everybody knows, I suppose, but myself--and that's your
honesty!"

"I have told you there is nothing to know," she said, speaking
unsteadily as if in pain. "Nothing of what you suppose. You don't
understand me. This letter is the beginning--and the end."

"The end--this thing has no end," he clamoured, unexpectedly. "Can't you
understand that? I can . . . The beginning . . ."

He stopped and looked into her eyes with concentrated intensity, with
a desire to see, to penetrate, to understand, that made him positively
hold his breath till he gasped.

"By Heavens!" he said, standing perfectly still in a peering attitude
and within less than a foot from her.

"By Heavens!" he repeated, slowly, and in a tone whose involuntary
strangeness was a complete mystery to himself. "By Heavens--I could
believe you--I could believe anything--now!"

He turned short on his heel and began to walk up and down the room with
an air of having disburdened himself of the final pronouncement of his
life--of having said something on which he would not go back, even if
he could. She remained as if rooted to the carpet. Her eyes followed
the restless movements of the man, who avoided looking