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he knew； in the most desperate moments of his life； when the next moment might bring death to himdeath from an arrowfrom a wild beastfrom a hurricane。
What could she do？
She did nothing。
She made no effort to save herself。
If he had put his arms about her and had carried her away from her husband's house to the uttermost ends of the earth； she would not have resisted。 It was not in her power to resist。
And it was because he saw this he went away； leaving her standing with that lovely Venetian mirror glittering in silver and ruby and emerald just above her head。
〃You have been right； I have been wrong；〃 said he。 〃Don't try to speak； Ella。 Don't try to keep me。 I know how you love me； and I know that if I ask you to keep me you will keep me until you die。 Forgive me for my selfishness； my beloved。 Good…by。〃
She felt him approach her and she felt the hands that he laid upon her bare shouldersone on each side of her neck。 She closed her eyes as he put his face down to hers and kissed her on the mouthnot with rapturous； passionate lips； but still with warm and trembling lips。 She did not know where the kiss ended； she did not know when his hands were taken off her shoulders。 She kept her eyes closed and her mouth sealed。 She did not even give him a farewell kiss。
When she opened her eyes she found herself alone in the room。
And then there came to her ears the sound of the double whistle for a hansom。 She stood silently there listening to the driving up of the vehicleshe even heard the sound of the closing of the apron and then the tinkling of the horse's bells dwindling into the distance。
A sense of loneliness came to her that was overwhelming in its force。
〃Fool！ fool！ fool！〃 she cried； through her set teeth。 〃What have I done？ Sent him away？ Sent him away？ My beloved！my best belovedmy man of men。 Gonegone！ Oh； fool！ fool！〃
She threw herself on a sofa and stared at the Watteau group of masquerading shepherds and shepherdesses on the great Sevres vase that stood on a pedestal near her。 The masks at the joining of the handles were of grinning satyrs。 They were leering at her； she thought。 They alone were aware of the good reason there was for satyrs to grin。 A woman had just sent away from her； forever； the bravest man in all the worldthose were Phyllis' wordsa king of menthe one man who loved her and whom she loved。 She had pretended to him that she was subject to the influences of religion； of honor； of duty！ What hypocrisy！ They knew it； those leering creaturesthey knew that she cared nothing for religion； that she regarded honor and duty as words of no meaning when such words as love and devotion were in the air。
She looked at the satyr masks； and had anyone been present in the room； that one would have seen that her lovely face became gradually distorted until the expression it wore was precisely the same as that upon the masksan expression that had its audible equivalent in the laugh which broke from her。
She lay back on her broad cushions。 One of the strands of her splendid hair had become loose； and after coiling over half a yard of the brocaded silk of a cushion； twisted its way down to the floor。 She lay back； pointing one finger at the face on the vase and laughing that satyr…laugh。
〃We knowwe knowwe know！〃 she cried； and her voice was like that of a drunken woman。 〃We know allyou and Iwe know the hypocrisythe pretense of religionof honordutya husband！ Ah； a husband！ that is the funniest of allthat husband！ We know how little we care for them all。〃
She continued laughing until her cushion slipped from under her head。 She half rose to straighten it； and at that instant she caught a glimpse of her face in the center silvered panel of the Venetian mirror。 The cry of horror that broke from her at that instant seemed part of her laugh。 It would not have occurred to anyone who might have heard it that it was otherwise than consistent with the incongruity； so to speak； of the existing elements of the scene。 The hideous leer of the thing with horns； looking down at the exquisite picture of the /fete champetre/the distorted features of the woman's face in the center of the ruby and emerald and sapphire of the Venetian mirror the cry of horror mixed with the laugh of the woman who mocked at religion and honor and purityall were consistently incongruous。
In another instant she was lying on the sofa with her face down to the cushion； trying to forget all that she had seen in the mirror。 She wept her tears on the brocaded silk for half an hour； and then she slipped from where she was lying till her knees were on the floor。 With a hand clutching each side of the cushion she got rid of her passion in prayer。
〃Oh； God！ God！ keep him away from me！ keep him away from me！〃 was her prayer； and it was possibly the best that she could have uttered。 〃Keep him away from me！ keep him away from me！ Don't let my soul be lost！ Keep him away from me！〃
When she struggled to her feet； at last； she stood in front of the mirror once again。
She now saw a face purified of all passion by tears and prayer； where she had seen the soulless face of a Pagan's orgy。
She went upstairs to her bed and went asleep； thanking God that she had had the strength to send him away； that she had had strength sufficient to stand where she had stood in the room； silent； while he had put his arms on her bare shoulders and kissed her on the mouth； saying 〃Good…by。〃
She felt that she had every reason to thank God for that strength； for she knew that it had been given to her at that moment； it had not sprung from within her own heart； her heart had been crying out to him； 〃Stay； stay； stay！〃 her heart took no account of honor or purity or a husband。
Yes； she felt that the strength which had come to her at that moment had been the especial gift of God； and she was thankful to God for it。
That consciousness of gratitude to God was her last sensation before falling asleep； and； when morning came； her first sensation was that of having a letter to write。 Before she had breakfasted she had written her letter and sent it to be posted。
This was the letter：
〃MY ONE LOVE： I was a fooloh； such a fool！ How could I have done it？ How could I have sent you away in such coldness last night？ Believe me； it was not I who did it。 How could I have done it？ You know that my love for you is limitless。 You know that it is my life。 I tell you that my love for you laughs at such limits as are laid down by religion and honor。 Why should I protest？ My love is love； and there can be no love where there are any limits。
〃Come to me on Thursday。 I shall be at home after dinner； at nine； and see if I am not now in my right mind。 Come to me； come to me； Bertie； my love。〃
CHAPTER XVII。
WHAT AM I THAT I SHOULD DO THIS THING？
〃At last！〃
He sat with the letter before him after he had breakfasted； and perhaps for a time； say a minute or so； he caught a glimpse of the nature of the woman who had written those lines to him。 If he had not had some appreciation of her nature he would have spent an hour or two perhaps a day or twotrying to reconcile her attitude of the previous night with the tone of her letter