Next moment they were round his neck, and she was clinging wildly to him. "Don't be unhappy! I can't bear it. Don't you see? Ah--don't you see?" Then he allowed himself to let her know that he did see. When he left her an hour later she stood in the middle of her room and drew a long breath. "_Oh!_" she cried. "What have I done? What _have_ I done?" He walked away with the maiden fire of her kisses thrilling his lips. "I've won--I've won--I've won!" His heart sang within him. But when he woke in the night--these months had taught him the habit of waking in the night and facing his soul--he said-- "It was very easy, after all--very, very easy. And was it worth while?" But the next evening, when they met, neither tasted in the other's kisses the bitterness of last night's regrets. And in three days Tom was to come home. He came. All the long way in the rattling, shaking train a song of delight sang itself over and over in his brain. He, too, had his visions: he was not too commonplace for those. He saw her, her bright beauty transfigured by the joy of reunion, rushing to meet him with eager hands and gladly given lips. He thought of all he had to tell her. The fifty pounds saved already. The Editor's probable resignation, his own almost certain promotion, the incredibly dear possibility of their marriage before another year had passed. It seemed a month before he pressed the electric button at her door, and pressed it with a hand that trembled for joy. The door opened and she met him, but this was not the radiant figure of his vision. It seemed to be not she, but an image of her--an image without life, without colour. "Come in," she said; "I've something to tell you." "What is it?" he asked bluntly. "What's happened, Harry? What's the matter?" "I've found out," she said slowly, but without hesitation: had she not rehearsed the speech a thousand times in these three days? "I've found out that it was a mistake, Tom. I--I love somebody else. Don't ask who it is. I love him. Ah--_don't_!" For his face had turned a leaden white, and he was groping blindly for something to hold on to. He sat down heavily on the chair where Dick had knelt at her feet the night before. But now it was she who was kneeling. "Oh, _don't_, Tom, dear--don't. I can't bear it. I'm not worth it. He's so brave and noble--and he loves me so." "And don't _I_ love you?" said poor Tom, and then without ado or disguise he burst into tears. She had ceased to think or to reason. Her head was on his shoulder, and they clung blindly to each other and cried like two children. * * * * * When Tom went to the Temple that night he carried a note from Harry to Dick. With sublime audacity and a confidence deserved she made Tom her messenger. "It's a little secret," she said, smiling at him, "and you're not to know." Tom thought it must be something about a Christmas present for himself. He laughed--a little shakily--and took the note.