Again the low hanging sun at the western end of Jane Street, cherry-red in the river mist, washing out all shabbiness and squalor in a rosy bath of light. A barrel-organ, played by an old, old man, drew legions of ragged children to the pavement in front of her house, where they whirled like gnats at sunset, dancing to some forgotten rag--the sun spinning its nimbus around each dishevelled, childish head. Annan made his way through the milling swarm with a caress for those who stumbled across his path and a silver-piece tossed to the ancient where he leaned on his organ, bent almost double, tears perpetual in his sunken eyes. He ran up the stairs; knocked. “Hello, Hattie,” he tried to say--scarcely conscious of voice at all, or sight or hearing. “Go right in, Mr. Annan, suh----” He was already going, not knowing any longer what he was about. The sun-glare on the windows dazzled him a moment before he saw her. She was standing at the further end of the room. He went slowly toward her, not knowing how they were to meet after ages of dead days. Then, still knowing nothing, he took her into his arms. Her mouth warmed slightly against his. As his embrace tightened, her hands hovered close to his shoulders, touched them, crept upward. Suddenly the girl strained him to her with all her strength. In the silence of passionate possession, her lips melted to his, ... a moment, ... then her head dropped on his arm with a sob. “I was lonely;--you made me feel lonely.... Where have you been?” “I’ve been in love with you----” She released herself but clung to his hand. They came together again, sank down on the lounge together. “I’ve been lonely,” she repeated; “--it’s been deathly lonely without you.... I’m tired--of the pain of it....” * * * * * Dusk in the room turned golden with a rosy tinge. They had not spoken. His gaze never left her face. At intervals she rested her bobbed head against him, confused by the dire ruin that once had been her mind before love burst in, disordering everything. Now, groping for the origin of the cataclysm, she retraced her progress through a maze of memories to the first step. The Park! Vision of hot stars overhead; vision of the great bed where she lay in this man’s house; vision of the Coast--a confusion of sunshine and feverish endeavour;--but in none of these was the germ of The Beginning.... Yet she was drawing nearer now. The place of the birth of love was not far away.... Suddenly she found it. And, as this man now was to know everything that she knew, Eris prepared to bare her untried heart.... She offered her lips first; looked into his eyes with a vague and virgin curiosity.