With his teeth hard set, he dropped the first page of _Romilly_ into the fire. Then he began to drop the rest in, sheet by sheet. For many minutes the calling behind his door continued; then suddenly it ceased. He heard the sound of feet slowly descending the stairs. He listened for the noise of a fall or a cry or the crash of a piece of the handrail of the upper landing; but none of these things came. She was spared. Apparently her rival suffered her to crawl abject and beaten away. Oleron heard the passing of her steps under his window; then she was gone. He dropped the last page into the fire, and then, with a low laugh rose. He looked fondly round his room. "Lucky to get away like that," he remarked. "She wouldn't have got away if I'd given her as much as a word or a look! What devils these women are!... But no; I oughtn't to say that; one of 'em showed forbearance...." Who showed forbearance? And what was forborne? Ah, Oleron knew!... Contempt, no doubt, had been at the bottom of it, but that didn't matter: the pestering creature had been allowed to go unharmed. Yes, she was lucky; Oleron hoped she knew it.... And now, now, now for his reward! Oleron crossed the room. All his doors were open; his eyes shone as he placed himself within that of his bedroom. Fool that he had been, not to think of destroying the manuscript sooner!... * * * * * How, in a houseful of shadows, should he know his own Shadow? How, in a houseful of noises, distinguish the summons he felt to be at hand? Ah, trust him! He would know! The place was full of a jugglery of dim lights. The blind at his elbow that allowed the light of a street lamp to struggle vaguely through--the glimpse of greeny blue moonlight seen through the distant kitchen door--the sulky glow of the fire under the black ashes of the burnt manuscript--the glimmering of the tulips and the moon-daisies and narcissi in the bowls and jugs and jars--these did not so trick and bewilder his eyes that he would not know his Own! It was he, not she, who had been delaying the shadowy Bridal; he hung his head for a moment in mute acknowledgment; then he bent his eyes on the deceiving, puzzling gloom again. He would have called her name had he known it--but now he would not ask her to share even a name with the other.... His own face, within the frame of the door, glimmered white as the narcissi in the darkness....