uit, small and narrow--"

"My God!" said Prosper, very low.

There was a silence. Jasper moved slightly, and Prosper started, but
the Jew stayed in his former place, only that he bent his head a
little, half-closed his eyes, and marked time with the hand that was
not buried in the plush above Betty's head. He recited in a heavy
voice, and it was here that Betty raised her muff!

Jasper is dying. By the time you get this letter he will be dead.
If you can forgive me for having failed in courage last year, come
back. What I have been to you before, I will be to you again, only
this time we can love openly. Come back.

"I am going mad!" said Prosper harshly, and indeed his face had a
pinched, half-crazy look.

The Jew waved his hand. "Oh, no, no, no. It is only that you are
making a discovery. Letters should be burnt, my friend, not torn and
thrown away, but burnt." He stood up to his stateliest height and he
made a curious and rather terrible gesture of breaking something
between his two hands. "I have this letter and I hold you and
Betty--so!" he said softly--"so!"

Betty spoke. "I might have told you that I loved him, that I have
loved him for years, Jasper. If you use this evidence, if you bring
this counter-suit, it will bring about the same, the very same,
result. Prosper and I--" She broke off choking.

"Of course. Betty and I will be married at once, as soon as she gets
her divorce, or you get yours." But Prosper's voice was hollow and
strained.

"You will be married, Betty," went on Jasper as calmly as before;
"you, branded in the eyes of the world as an unfaithful wife, will be
married to a man who has ceased to love you."

"That is not true," said Betty.

"Look at his face, my dear. Look at it carefully. Now, watch it
closely. Prosper Gael, if I should tell that with a little patience, a
little skill, a little unselfishness, you could win a certain woman
who once loved you--eh?--a certain Jane West, could you bring yourself
to marry this discarded wife of mine?"

Betty sprang up and caught Prosper's arm in her small hand.

"He is tired of you, Betty. He loves Jane West." Jasper laughed
shortly, looking at the tableau they made: Prosper white, caught in
the teeth of honor, his face set to hide its secret, Betty reading his
eyes, his soul.

"I am entirely yours, in your hands," said Prosper Gael.

Betty shook his arm and let it go. "You are lying. You love the woman.
Do you think I can't