"Jack, dear." She spoke, very quietly. He lifted his eyes, dim, moist. His lips worked. "Oh, daddy!" exclaimed the child. "You've been ill! You look awful!" He bent his head. "Yes, little sweetheart," he answered, in shaking tone, "very ill. God grant you may never know how ill." "But you're most well, now, aren't you daddy?" she asked, brightly. "I hope so," he replied. "Ah, how I hope so." Lips and voice both quivered, now. "And we can play horsie?" she asked. "Yes," he assented. He essayed to lift her; but even the tiny weight of the little form was too much for his shattered strength. His head sunk upon the table, arm-buried. His body shook. The child did not see; which was well. She was looking at her mother. "Mother, dear," she said reproachfully. "You forgot to kiss daddy." "Did I? I'm sorry." Willingly Kathryn went to him. He raised thin, white hand in protest. "Not now," he murmured, brokenly. "It's not fair--not right!" The situation was hard--hard for all--no less hard for her than for him-- no less hard for Blake than for either. He stepped forward, forcing a lightness of tone and of word that lay farthest from his thought. He laid his hand lightly on Schuyler's shoulder. "Come, Jack," he said crisply. "It's quite all right. There's no cause for anything but gladness. I'll see them to the hotel, and come back for you." Schuyler clutched at his strong fingers. "Don't be long, Tom," he begged, whispering. "Only a moment," returned Blake, so low that only he might hear. Blake knew that he needed time to regain his self-command. He took Muriel by the hand. "Come, Kate," he suggested. Kathryn shook her head. "Leave us for a moment," she urged. "Do you think it best?" She bent her head. Taking the child, Blake left the room. And slowly Kathryn again went to Schuyler's side. "John, dear," she said, softly. His head fell again to his hands. "I can bear no more, Kathryn," he whispered, weakly. "Oh, God, how great is Thy goodness! The shame of it all! The shame! The utter, utter shame! ... And you, Kathryn, can forgive!" "I can forgive, John, dear. I do forgive. It was not your fault. Is it the fault of the bird that he goes to his death when the eyes of the snake are upon him? It was not that you were weak, even; it was that-- she was strong, strong in the one way in which she leads. I do forgive-- forgive and understand." [Illustration: I DO FORGIVE--FORGIVE AND UNDERSTAND] "You are good beyond all goodness," he murmured, voice low, vibrant. "No," she said. She smiled a smile that was no smile. And then: "It's been a dream, John--a bitter, bitter dream. But we are awake, now--awake at last. And we'll never dream again--never." She rose. Violet eyes were moist. She turned away, a little, that he might not see. Her voice was lighter as she asked: "John, dear. Don't you want me to stay and help you?" He shook his head.