to her knees. She said
nothin' an' I said nothin'. 'Git in,' I said, an' I turned down the
cover and come out. The next mornin' the boys had to get over to
Hoboken, an' I was up before daylight and then back to bed again. At
seven o'clock I went to her room and pushed in the door. She was gone,
an' I've never seen her since. That cuff-link's hers. Take it up-stairs
with ye an' put it in the wash-stand drawer. I'll lose it if I keep it
down here, an' she's bound to come back for it some day. What time is
it? Twelve o'clock, if I'm alive! Well, then, I'm goin' to bed, and
you're goin', too. John's got his key, and there's his coffee, but he
won't be long now."

Felix sat still. Only when she had finished busying herself about the
room making ready to close the place for the night did he rouse himself.
So still was he, and so absorbed that she thought he had fallen asleep,
until she became aware of a flash from under the overhanging brows and
heard him say, as if speaking to himself: "It was very good of you. Yes,
very good--of you--to do it, and--I suppose she never came back?"

"She never did," returned Kitty, drawing a chair away from the heat
of the stove, "and I'm that sorry she didn't. I'll fix the lights when
ye've gone up. Good night to ye."

"Good night, Mrs. Cleary," and he left the room.

In the same absorbed way he mounted the stairs, opened his own door and,
without turning up the gas, sank heavily into a chair, the link still
held fast in his hand. A moment later he sprang from his seat, stepped
quickly to the gas-jet, turned up the light, and held one of the small
buttons to the flame, as if to reassure himself of the initials; then
with a smothered cry fell across the narrow bed, his face hidden in the
quilt.

For an hour he lay motionless, his mind a seething caldron, above which
writhed distorted shapes who hid their faces as they mounted upward.
When these vanished and a certain calm fell upon him, two figures
detached themselves and stood clear: a woman cowering on a door-step,
her skirts befouled with the slime of the streets, and a priest with
hand upraised, his only weapon the symbol of his God.

Chapter XII

The morning brought him little relief. He drank his coffee in
comparative silence and crossed the street to his work with only a
slight bend of his head toward Kitty, who was helping Mike tag some
baggage. She noticed then how pale he was and the wan smile that swept
over his