I can see the look in your eyes now, when the want had been
satisfied, and you could not drug your creed any more." Her breath came in a long sigh. Then she tried to speak; tried again. "It is so, isn't it?" he asked. She nodded. Speech was too difficult. With the movement a strand of the
corn-gold hair came tumbling down the side of her face. "Then, that being the case," said the man, with infinite gentleness, his
eyes on the little, tumbling lock, "I shall not attempt so much as to
touch your hand before you leave the room." At the door she turned. "Tell me once again," she said. "You _want_ to kiss me?" He gripped the arms of his chair; from where she stood, she could see
the veins standing out on his hands. "I want to kiss you," he said fiercely. "I want to kiss you. If there
were any way of cutting off to-morrow--all the to-morrows--with the
danger they hold for us--I would kiss you. I would kiss you, and kiss
you, and kiss you!" II

Where her feet took her during the thousand, thousand years that was his
going she could never afterwards say; but she found herself at last at
the top of the great building, at an open window, leaning out, with the
rain beating into her eyes. Far below her the lights wavered and later she remembered that echoes of
a far-off tumult had reached her as she sat. But her ears held only the
memory of a man's footsteps--the eager tread that had never lingered so
much as a second's space on its way to her; that had often stumbled
slightly on the threshold of her presence; that she had heard and
welcomed in her dreams; that would not come again. The raindrops lay like tears upon her face. She brushed them aside, and, rising, put up her hands to feel the wet
lying heavy on her hair. The coldness of her limbs surprised her
faintly. Downstairs she went again, the echoes mocking every step. She closed the door of the room behind her and idly cleared a scrap of
paper from a chair. Mechanically her hands went to the litter on his
desk and she had straightened it all before she realised that there was
no longer any need. To-morrow would bring a voice she did not know;
would usher a stranger into her room to take her measure from behind a
barrier of formality. For the rest there would be work, and food, and
sleep. These things would make life--life that had been love. She put on her hat and coat. The room seemed smaller somehow and
shabbier. The shaded lights that had invited, now merely irritated; the
whimsical disorder of books and papers spoke only of an uncompleted
task. Gone was the glamour and the promise and the good comradeship. He
had taken them all. She faced to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
empty-handed--in her heart the memory of words that had seared and
healed in a breath, and the dead dream of a kiss. Her throat ached with
the pain of it. And then suddenly she heard him coming back! She stiffened. For one instant, mind and body, she was rigid with the
sheer wonder of it. Then, as the atmosphere of the room surged back,
tense with vitality, her mind leapt forward in welcome. He was coming
back, coming back! The words hammered themselves out to the rhythm of
the eager tread that never lingered so much as a second's space on its
way to her, that stumbled slightly on the threshold of her presence. By some queer, reflex twist of memory, her hands brushed imaginary
raindrops from her face and strayed uncertainly to where the wet had
lain on her hair. The door opened and closed behind him. "I've come back. I've come back to kiss you. Dear--_dear_!" Her outflung hand checked him in his stride towards her. Words came
stammering to her lips. "Why--but--this isn't--I don't understand! All you said--it was true,
surely? It was cruel of you to make me know it was true and then come
back!" "Let me kiss you--let me, let me!" He was overwhelming her, ignoring her
resistance. "I must kiss you, I must kiss you." He said it again and
again. "No, no, you shan't--you can't play with me! You said you were afraid
for me, and you made me afraid, too--of my weakness--of the danger--of
my longing for you----"

"Let me kiss you! Yes, you shall let me; you _shall_ let me." His arms
held her, his face touched hers. "Aren't you afraid any more? Has a miracle happened--may we kiss in
spite of to-morrow?" Inch by inch she was relaxing. All thought was slipping away into a
great white light that held no to-morrows, nor any fear of them, nor of
herself, nor of anything. The light crept to her feet, rose to her
heart, her head. Through the radiance came his words. "Yes, a miracle. Oh, my dear--my little child! I've come back to kiss
you, little child." "Kiss me, then," she said against his lips. III

Hazily she was aware that he had released her; that she had raised her
head; that against the rough tweed of his shoulder there lay a long,
corn-gold hair. She laughed shakily and her hand went up to remove it; but he caught her
fingers and held them to his face. And with the movement and his look
there came over her in a wave the shame of her surrender, a shame that
was yet a glory, a diadem of pride. She turned blindly away. "Please," she heard herself saying, "let me go now. I want to be alone. I want to--please don't tell me to-night. To-morrow----"

She was at the door, groping for the handle. Behind her she heard his
voice; it was very tender. "I shall always kneel to you--in your shrine." Then she was outside, and the chilly passages were cooling her burning
face. She had left him in the room behind her; and she knew he would
wait there long enough to allow her to leave the building. Almost
immediately, it seemed, she was downstairs in the hall, had reached the
entrance. She confronted a group of white-faced, silent men. "Why, is anything the matter? What has happened? O'Dell?" The porter stood forward. He cleared his throat twice, but for all that,
his words were barely audible. "Yes, Miss Carryll. Good-night, miss. You'd best be going on, miss, if
you'll excuse----"

Behind O'Dell stood a policeman; behind him again, a grave-eyed man
stooped to an unusual task. It arrested her attention like the flash of
red danger. "Why is the door of your room being locked, O'Dell?" She knew her
curiosity was indecent, but some powerful premonition was stirring in
her, and she could not pass on. "Has there been an accident? Who is in
there?" Then, almost under her feet, she saw a dark pool lying sluggishly
against the tiles; nearer the door another--on the pavement outside
another--and yet another. She gasped, drew back, felt horribly sick;
and, as she turned, she caught O'Dell's muttered aside to the policeman. "Young lady's 'is seccereterry--must be the last that seen 'im alive. All told, 'tain't more'n 'arf-an-'our since 'e left. 'Good-night,
O'Dell,' sez 'e. 'Miss Carryll's still working--don't lock 'er in,' sez
'e. Would 'ave 'is joke. Must 'ave gone round the corner an' slap inter
the car.