"We will grant, John, that I do not understand; that I know nothing of loving a woman whom fate sees fit to separate me from; but I do know this: Always there must be one love stronger than another; as it was with you and Lola, so it always is. One who loves, and gives, one who is loved, and takes; not always selfishly, but always it is so. In your life you may love again, for you are young, but you will never again be able to give to any woman just what you gave to her. It is not any man's to give more than once. If I were you I should try to be worthy of the love that, on your part at least, was a very sacred thing. Any scandal you bring upon her now, any act of selfish revenge for your very real wrongs, is just going to become the darkest shadow on your memory of her. If I could do it, my boy, I should forget the woman, and only remember the love you had for her, for in all your life you will never know a finer thing." "You are a good man, Doctor, and I am ashamed for having spoken as I did," replied John earnestly. "I can't make you any promise, because to me there is only one thing to live for, just now--to find them. What will happen then I don't know, but I must speak to her once more, and to him. I am going home now, to change my clothes, and to write a note to the bank. You must try to get some sleep. I will see you during the day." "Am I to depend upon that?" inquired the Doctor. "Yes," John answered. "No matter what happens I will keep you informed." He went away, down the elevator, and through the deserted streets, to his rooms. He saw no beauty in the dim, misty light of the summer morning, or the faint glow of the first rays of the rising sun. He saw nothing but Lola's face, as she had stood up in Fenway's car, and looked back, and laughed at him. When Maria came into the front room to put it straight before breakfast she found Dr. Crossett still sitting where John had left him. He looked up and spoke pleasantly to her as she entered, but she thought that he had, as she expressed it to herself, "a queer, far-off look in his eyes, like a person that had been thinking of things that had happened a long time ago." * * * * * Lola was sleeping very peacefully in a large and rather ornate brass bed, in one of Mrs. Harlan's guest rooms. As she lay there, dressed in one of that lady's absurdly ample night robes, she was smiling to herself happily--some freak of what we choose to call our sub-conscious mind had flashed across her brain--a dream. There was no hardness in her face now, no look of fear, or glitter of excitement in her eyes. She was dreaming of John, and the day he had brought her a beautiful bunch of roses; little Nellie, poor little girl, was there.