r," he said, as he
held her hand. "You were right. Life without love would be impossible,
and you have made life very possible for me."

She was thinking of this during the lonely drive back to Starden; always
his words came back to her. Life without love would be impossible, and
then it was that the battle ended, that pride retired vanquished from
the field.

"I want you to come back to me because I am so lonely. Please come
back and forgive.

"JOAN."

The message that, in the end, she must write was written and sent.

And now that pride had broken down, was gone for ever, so far as this
man was concerned, it was a very loving anxious-eyed, trembling woman
who watched for the coming of the man that she loved and needed, the man
who meant all the happiness this world could give her.

* * * * *

She had called to him, and this must be his answer. No slow-going
trains, no tedious broken journeys, no wasted hours of delay--the
fastest car, driven at reckless speed, yet with all due care that none
should suffer because of his eagerness and his happiness.

It seemed to him such a very pitiful, humble little appeal, an appeal
that went straight to his heart--so short an appeal that he could
remember every word of it, and found himself repeating it as his car
swallowed the miles that lay between them.

He asked no questions of himself. She would not have sent for him had
she not been free to do so. He knew that.

And now the landscape was growing familiar, a little while, and they
were running through Starden village. Villagers who had come to know him
touched their hats. They passed Mrs. Bonner's little cottage, and now
through the gateway, the gates standing wide as in welcome and
expectation of his coming.

And she, watching for him, saw his coming, and her heart leaped with the
joy of it. Helen Everard saw, too, and guessed what it meant.

"Go into the morning-room, Joan. I will send him to you there."

And so it was in the morning-room he found her. Flushed and bright-eyed,
trembling with happiness and the joy of seeing him, gone for ever the
pride and the scorn, she was only a girl who loved him dearly, who
needed him much. She had fought the giant pride, and had beaten it for
ever for his sake, and now he was here smiling at her, his arms
stretched out to her.

"You wanted me at last, Joan," he said. "You called me, darling, and I
have come."

"I want you.