with a grating of the teeth; the unlocking of the drawer; the snatching up of the evil, glittering thing; the exit along the passage, with “his quick, heavy tread.” Did he remember to lock the drawer again? The vision was elusive. The question became insistent. “Did you try the drawer?” he asked suddenly. “No,” said Unity. It was unlocked. He felt sure that it was unlocked. He recalled the moving picture, bade it stay while he concentrated his soul on the drawer. And one instant it was shut, and another it did not seem flush with the framing-table and a crack, a sixteenth of an inch, was visible. He strove to carry on the vision beyond the house-door; but in vain. He saw John Risca going out grim into the soft and clouded summer evening, and then the figure disappeared into lucent but impenetrable space. Unity gripped his hand. Her common little face was like marble. “Supposing he's dead!” “I won't suppose such a thing,” said Herold. “You must. Why not face things?” “All right. Let us face them.” “Supposing he's dead. Do you think he 's wicked?” “Certainly not. Do you?” “You know I don't,” said Unity. “Of course I know,” said Herold. “I could die for her myself, and I'm not a man,” said Unity. “Is n't it best, however, to live for those one loves, even at the cost of suffering?” “Not if you can do them good by dying.” “Supposing he 's dead,” asked Herold,--clean direct souls can ask each other such questions,--“what will you do?” Her grip grew fierce as she turned up to him her snub-nosed little cockney face. “There 'll be no need for me to kill myself. I 'll die all right. Don't make any mistake about that.” “But supposing he is alive, and supposing the barrier were removed--I mean, supposing the woman--you know whom--were no longer there, and he married--what would you do?” “What would you?” “I?” “You don't think you can fool me,” said Unity. “You love Miss Stella as much as he does.” “How do you know?” Unity flung her hand to the outer air. “How do I know that's an omnibus?” “You 're right, my dear, I do love her. You 're one of the few human beings in this world who know what love means, and I 've told you what I 've told to no one living. But if she married John to-morrow, I would strangle everything wrong in me and devote my life to watching over their happiness.” “Don't you think I'd do the same?” “I know you would.” “Then what 's the good of asking me what I 'd do?” said Unity. “Talk like this helps.” Unity sought his hand again. “It does,” she said gently. There was silence for a while. The white, wall-inclosed houses of Maida Vale, gay in the sunshine, flashed by them. She gripped his hand harder. “But supposing he 's dead, supposing he 's dead.” “Let us suppose nothing, my dear,” said Herold. The cab stopped at Fairmont, Ossington Road. Herold gave Unity his hand to alight, and together they went through the tiny front garden, now bright with geraniums and petunias and pansies, into the house.