in attendance; that is,
he's in the sitting-room. She doesn't know of his presence, hasn't
been allowed to see him. Miss West's door--the outside one--is ajar.
Go up. Get past Gael if you can. Behave yourself quietly, and if you
see the least sign of weakness on the part of Miss West, or if she
shows the slightest disinclination for your company, come down--I'm
trusting you--as quickly as you can and tell me. I'll wait. Have I
your promise?"

"Yes, sir," gasped Pierre.

The doctor smiled at the swift, leaping grace of his Western friend's
ascent. He was anxious concerning the result of his experiment, but
there was a memory upon him of a haunted look in Joan's eyes that
seemed the fellow to a look of Pierre's. He rather believed in
intuitions, especially his own.

CHAPTER XIII

THE END OF THE TRAIL

At the top of the fourth flight of steps, Pierre found himself facing
a door that stood ajar. Beyond that door was Joan and he knew not what
experience of discovery, of explanation, of punishment. What he had
suffered since the night of his cruelty would be nothing to what he
might have to suffer now at the hands of the woman he had loved and
hurt. That she was incredibly changed he knew, what had happened to
change her he did not know. That she had suffered greatly was certain.
One could not look at the face of Jane West, even under its disguise
of paint and pencil, without a sharp realization of profound and
embittering experience. And, just as certainly, she had gone far ahead
of her husband in learning, in a certain sort of mental and social
development. Pierre was filled with doubt and with dread, with an
almost unbearable self-depreciation. And at the same time he was
filled with a nameless fear of what Joan might herself have become.

He stood with his hand on the knob of that half-opened door, bent his
head, and drew some deep, uneven breaths. He thought of Holliwell as
though the man were standing beside him. He stepped in quietly, shut
the door, and walked without hesitation down the passageway into the
little, sunny sitting-room. There, before the crackling, open fire,
sat Prosper Gael.

Prosper, it seemed, was alone in the small, silent place. He was
sitting on the middle of his spine, as usual, with his long, thin legs
stretched out before him and a veil of cigarette smoke before his
eyes. He turned his head idly, expecting, no doubt, to see the nurse.

Pierre, white and grim, stood looking d