or her . . . and how Neale, doggedly sure
of the simple truth, too simple for her to see, had held to the
certainty that his effort would not make her strong, and that she would
only be free if she were strong.

Neale being his own master, a free citizen of life, knew what a kingdom
he owned, and with a magnanimity unparalleled could not rest till she
had entered hers. She, not divining what she had not known, had only
wished to make the use of his strength which would have weakened her.
Had there ever before been any man who refused to let the woman he loved
weaken herself by the use of his strength? Had a man ever before held
out his strong hand to a woman to help her forward, not to hold her
fast?

Her life was her own. She stood in it, knowing it to be an impregnable
fortress, knowing that from it she could now look abroad fearlessly and
understandingly, knowing that from it she could look at things and men
and the world and see what was there. From it she could, as if for the
first time, look at Vincent Marsh when next she saw him; she would look
to see what was really there. That was all. She would look at him and
see what he was, and then she would know the meaning of what had
happened, and what she was to do. And no power on earth could prevent
her from doing it. The inner bar that had shut her in was broken. She
was a free woman, free from that something in her heart that was afraid.
For the moment she could think of nothing else beyond the richness of
that freedom. Why, here was the total fulfilment she had longed for.
Here was the life more abundant, within, within her own heart, waiting
for her!

* * * * *

The old clock in the hall behind her sounded four muffled strokes and,
as if it had wakened her, Agnes stirred in her bed and cried out in a
loud voice of terror, "Oh, come quick, Miss Marise! Come!"

Marise went through the hail and to her door, and saw the frightened old
eyes glaring over the pulled-up sheet. "Oh . . . oh . . . it's you . . . I
thought. . . . Oh, Miss Marise, don't you see anything standing in that
corner? Didn't you hear. . . . Oh, Miss Marise, I must have had a bad
dream. I thought . . ." Her teeth were chattering. She did not know what
she was saying.

"It's all right, Agnes," said Marise soothingly, stepping into the room.
"The big clock just struck four. That probably wakened you."

She sat down on the bed and laid her hand firmly on Agnes' sh