“You think nothing matters now,” he said. “You think you won’t care. You’re wrong. You will care—horribly.” “I think I have got to know,” she said, “whatever it is.” “All right,” he said recklessly. “You shall know. After some damnable fate had taken you to Tetherstones, after they had tried to murder me and failed, after that night at Fordestown when you refused to come with me, the devil entered into me, and I made up my mind I’d get you—at any cost. And so I played you a trick. I lied to you.” He bent down, trying to read her impassive face. “Do you understand? I tricked you—to get you up here.” She did not flinch or give any sign of feeling. “Do you mean about my sketches?” she said. “Yes. That’s just what I do mean. I have got them all here. No one has seen them but myself.” A faint frown drew her forehead. “But you paid for them,” she said. “I know. That was part of my damned scheme to get you into my power. You were always so independent. I thought when once you realized that you had been living on my money, it would break your spirit.” “How—odd!” she said. And that was all. No word of reproach or condemnation; yet the man winced as if he had been struck in the face. “My God!” he said. “If you would only curse me! Any other woman would.” “But why?” she said. “The fault was mine. I always knew—in my heart—that you were—that sort of man.” “My God!” he said again. “You haven’t much mercy.” She looked up at him. “I am sorry for you,” she said. “But—I don’t blame you. You were made that way.” He struck his fist into his hand. “Frances, I swear to you—I swear to you—No, what’s the good of swearing? I’ll show you. Look here! We won’t talk any more to-night. We’re both dead beat. I’ll take you back to your hotel. And in a day or two—if you will trust me—I’ll show you that I am not—that sort of man. Will you trust me, Frances? Give me this one chance of making good? I’m a blackguard, I own it; but I can play the game if I try. Will you trust me?” There was a hint of desperation in his voice, and, because she was a woman, that reached her where mere protestations had failed. She held out her hand to him mutely, and as he took it she rose to her feet, looking him straight in the eyes. But she did not utter one word. She had spoken her condemnation and there was nothing left to say. Out of her despair, tragically but fearlessly, she faced him. And to the man in his abasement there came a sense of greatness such as he had never before known. Not by strength and not by strategy, but by purity of heart, she had conquered the devil in his soul. CHAPTER V THE VISION London skies and ceaseless rain, and the roar and swish of London traffic over the streaming roads! The tramp of many hurrying feet, the echo of careless voices vaguely heard, and the grey, grim river flowing out to sea! How terrible it was! How inevitable! How—lonely!