orning, nearly three months
ago; and, vaulting over a gate to protect a little animal from
unnecessary pain, was plunged himself into such utter loss and anguish.

Jane rose, and took stock of all his quaint treasures on the
mantelpiece. Especially her mind was held and fascinated by a stout
little bear in brass, sitting solidly yet jauntily on its haunches, its
front paws clasping a brazen pole; its head turned sideways; its small,
beady, eyes, looking straight before it. The chain, from its neck to
the pole denoted captivity and possible fierceness. Jane had no doubt
its head would lift, and its body prove a receptacle for matches; but
she felt equally certain that, should she lift its head and look, no
matches would be within it. This little bear was unmistakably Early
Victorian; a friend of childhood's days; and would not be put to common
uses. She lifted the head. The body was empty. She replaced it gently
on the mantelpiece, and realised that she was deliberately postponing
an ordeal which must be faced.

Deryck had told her of Garth's pictures of the One Woman. Garth,
himself, had now told her even more. But the time had come when she
must see them for herself. It was useless to postpone the moment. She
looked towards the yellow screen.

Then she walked, over to the western window, and threw it wide open.
The sun was dipping gently towards the purple hills. The deep blue of
the sky began to pale, as a hint of lovely rose crept into it. Jane
looked heavenward and, thrusting her hands deeply into her pockets,
spoke aloud. "Before God" she said,--"in case I am never able to say or
think it again, I will say it now--I BELIEVE I WAS RIGHT. I considered
Garth's future happiness, and I considered my own. I decided as I did
for both our sakes, at terrible cost to present joy. But, before God, I
believed I was right; and--I BELIEVE IT STILL."

Jane never said it again.

CHAPTER XXIX

JANE LOOKS INTO LOVE'S MIRROR

Behind the yellow screen, Jane found a great confusion of canvases, and
unmistakable evidence of the blind hands which had groped about in a
vain search, and then made fruitless endeavours to sort and rearrange.
Very tenderly, Jane picked up each canvas from the fallen heap; turning
it the right way up, and standing it with its face to the wall.
Beautiful work, was there; some of it finished; some, incomplete. One
or two faces she knew, looked out at her in their pictured loveliness.
But the can