“You are wonderful,” she gasped, “but--you--you spoke of going away.” “I am going to travel,” he said quietly, “rather a long journey. I have lived three lives, I am going to try a fourth!” “Alone?” she asked. “Quite alone,” he answered. “Tell me where you are going?” she begged. “I cannot do that,” he answered. “It is my secret.” She rose to her feet. She was very pale. She stood in front of him, and she laid her hands upon his shoulders. “Wingrave,” she said, “I will obey. I will live the life you have shown me, and I will live it successfully. But I will know this. Who is it that has succeeded where I have failed?” “I do not understand you,” he answered. “You do!” she declared, “and I will know. For years you have been a man with a shell upon your heart. Every good impulse, every kind thought seemed withered up. You were absolutely cold, absolutely passionless! I have worn myself out trying to call you back to your own, to set the blood flowing once more in your veins, to break for one moment the barriers which you had set up against Nature herself. Some day, I felt that it must come--and it has! Who has done it, Wingrave? It is not--Emily?” “Emily!” he exclaimed. “I have not seen her for months. She has no interest for me--she never had.” “Then tell me who it is!” “Nature unaided,” he answered carelessly. “Human intervention was not necessary. It was the swing of the pendulum, Ruth, the eternal law which mocks our craving for content. I had no sooner succeeded in my new capacity--than the old man crept out.” “But Nature has her weapons always,” she protested. “Wingrave, was it the child?” He touched the electric bell. Taking her hands, he bent down and kissed them. “Dear lady,” he said, “goodbye--good fortune! Conquer new worlds, and remember--white is your color, and Paquin your one modiste. Morrison, Lady Barrington’s carriage.” “LOVE SHALL MAKE ALL THINGS NEW” Mr. Pengarth was loth to depart. He felt that all pretext for lingering was gone, that he had outstayed his welcome. Yet he found himself desperately striving for some excuse to prolong an interview which was to all effects and purposes concluded. “I will do my best, Sir Wingrave,” he said, reverting to the subject of their interview, “to study Miss Lundy’s interests in every way. I will also see that she has the letter you have left for her within eight days from now. But if you could see you way to leave some sort of address so that I should have a chance of communicating with you, if necessary, I should assume my responsibilities with a lighter heart.” Wingrave gave vent to a little gesture of annoyance.