The preparations for Lawson’s going were all made before the nightfall that was to cover his exit. His trunk had gone; his coat and hat and hand-luggage were stacked conveniently together on a chair in the empty, cleared-out room. “And this is the last money you’ll ever get from me,” Leverich said, counting out the bills on the table by which Lawson sat uneasily, his head and part of his swollen, discolored face bandaged, his dark eyes glancing furtively from under their heavy lids. “There are your tickets, they’ll carry you through. Peters will be at the door with the carriage at nine to take you to the train here, and James will go over with you to the terminal and put you on the sleeper. You can’t get out too fast for me.” “It’s kind of you to kick a fellow when he’s down,” said Lawson sardonically. “It’s a pretty expensive kick,” returned Leverich grimly, “but it’s the last. You’ll never get a cent more from me, nor from Myra either, if I know it.” “Oh, very well,” said Lawson indifferently. But when his sister came in afterwards alone, he cut her words short; through all her plaintive farewell complainings there was a manifestly cheerful prevision of relief when he should be gone. “I’ve had enough of this—don’t come in here again. He says you’re to send me no money, but you’re to send me all I want—you hear?” “Oh, Lawson!” “You know why you’d better.” He fixed his eye on her threateningly, and the full color blanched suddenly from her face. “Yes, yes, I will.” She made an effort to recover herself. “If you realized how used up I am over all this——” “Don’t come in here again!” His rising voice, the glance he shot at her, sent her flying from the room—it was as if some crouching animal were about to leap a barrier between them. The shifting gray clouds were darkening now into a solid mass, the eerie wind that had sprung up whined fitfully around the corners of the house, as he sat there waiting. After a while the door opened and shut; there was a soft, rustling noise. Lawson looked up, and saw Dosia against that background of the darkening sky. She was in a white silken gown, given her by Mrs. Leverich, that fell in straight folds from her waist to her feet. She had been in white the night of the ball. But her face! He put his hand involuntarily across his eyes. So pinched, so wan, so small, so piteously changed that face, he did well to hide the sight of it from him. Only her eyes—those eyes that were the mirrors of Dosia’s soul—showed that she still lived; in them was a steadfastness and a purpose won from death. She came straight toward him, though with a slow and languid step, dragging a low chair forward to a place by his. His rough appearance, so different from his usual carelessly well-cared-for aspect, sent a momentary spasm over her pinched face, but that was all. She dropped into the chair as one who found it difficult to stand, saying after a moment’s silence, in a childlike voice: