He had killed that lie; it was agony as if he had killed part of himself. But life was the agony now for him. She had taken from him everything that made the world worth having; killed his art, killed his love. There was no hope, no hope. He looked again at the white blade as if there ought to be blood upon it. * * * * * Mortimer woke early, roused by Mrs. Witchout knocking at the house door. Wrapping himself in his dressing gown he went down and let her in, briefly answering her exclamations of surprise at seeing him there. He wondered why Maddison had not heard her. He listened at the studio door, there was no sound within. He knocked—there was no reply. The dead do not answer the living. Before the easel on which stood the tattered remnants of “The Rebel” Maddison lay dead. * * * * * * Transcriber's note: Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained.