coldly. "It's too late."

"Too late?"

The woman nodded, but her thoughts seemed far away.

"Tell me," she said, after a pause, while she avoided the man's
despairing eyes, "where does the treachery--lie?"

The man turned away. His slim shoulders lifted with seeming
indifference.

"Pete Clancy and Nick Devereux--your two boys. But I don't know yet.
I'm not sure."

Suddenly Kate moved toward him. The coldness had passed out of her
manner. Her eyes had softened, and a smile, a tender smile, shone in
their depths. She held out her two hands.

"Charlie, boy," she said, "you needn't fear for treachery for
to-morrow. Leave Pete and Nick to me. I can deal with them. I promise
you Fyles will gain nothing in the game he's playing, through them.
Now, you must go. Give up all thought of me. We cannot help things. We
can never be anything to each other, more than we are now, so why
endure the pain and misery of a hope than can never be fulfilled. As
long as I live I shall pray for your welfare. So long as I can I shall
strive for it. It is for you to be strong. You must set your heart
upon living down this old past, and--forgetting me. I am not worth
the love you give me. Indeed--indeed I am not."

But her outstretched hands were ignored. Charlie made a slight,
impatient movement, and turned toward the door. Finally he looked
back, and, for a moment, his gaze encountered the appeal in Kate's
eyes. Then he passed on swiftly as though he could not endure the
sight of all that which he knew to be slipping from beyond his reach.

One hand reached the door handle, then he hunched his shoulders
obstinately.

"I give up nothing, Kate. Nothing," he said doggedly. "I love you, and
I shall go on loving you to--the end."

* * * * *

It was late when Kate returned to her home. The house was in darkness,
and the moon brought it out in silvery, frigid relief. Thrusting the
front door open, she paused for a moment upon the threshold. She might
have been listening; she might merely have been thinking. Finally she
sat down and removed her shoes and gently tip-toed to her sister's
room.

Helen's door was ajar, and she pushed it open and looked in. The
moonlight was shining across her sister's fair features, and the mass
of loose fair hair which framed them. She was sound asleep in that
wonderful dreamless land of rest, far from the turbulent little world
in which her waking hours were spent.

Kate