If he had won, and won so utterly, I would ask but to speak to her once, and say farewell to both forever. So I heavily climbed the stairs, knocked loudly, and entered at Hal’s ‘Come in!’ only to find him sitting there alone, smoking – yes, smoking in the chair which but a moment since had held her too!

He had but just lit the cigar, a paltry device to blind my eyes.

‘Look here, Hal,’ said I, ‘I can’t stand this any longer. May I ask you one thing? Let me see her once, just once, that I may say good-bye, and then neither of you need see me again!’

Hal rose to his feet and looked me straight in the eye. Then he threw that whole cigar out of the window, and walked to within two feet of me.

‘Are you crazy,’ he said. ‘I ask her! I! I have never had speech of her in my life! And you –’ He stopped and turned away.

‘And I what?’ I would have it out now whatever came.

‘And you have seen her day after day – talked with her – I need not repeat all that my eyes have seen!’

‘You need not, indeed,’ said I. ‘It would tax even your invention. I have never seen her in this room but once, and then but for a fleeting glimpse – no word. From the street I have seen her often – with you!’

He turned very white and walked from me to the window, then turned again.

‘I have never seen her in this room for even such a moment as you own to. From the street I have seen her often – with you!’

We looked at each other.

‘Do you mean to say,’ I inquired slowly, ‘that I did not see you just now sitting in that chair, by that window, with her in your arms?’

‘Stop!’ he cried, throwing out his hand with a fierce gesture. It struck sharply on the corner of the chair-back. He wiped the blood mechanically from the three-cornered cut, looking fixedly at me.

‘I saw you,’ said I.

‘You did not!’ said he.

I turned slowly on my heel and went into my room. I could not bear to tell that man, my more than brother, that he lied.

I sat down on my bed with my head on my hands, and presently I heard Hal’s door open and shut, his step on the stair, the front door slam behind him. He had gone, I knew not where, and if he went to his death and a word of mine would have stopped him, I would not have said it. I do not know how long I sat there, in the company of hopeless love and jealousy and hate.

Suddenly, out of the silence of the empty room, came the steady swing and creak of the great chair. Perhaps – it must be! I sprang to my feet and noiselessly opened the door. There she sat by the window, looking out, and – yes – she threw a kiss to some one below. Ah, how beautiful she was! How beautiful! I made a step toward her. I held out my hands, I uttered I know not what – when all at once came Hal’s quick step upon the stairs.

She heard it, too, and, giving me one look, one subtle, mysterious, triumphant look, slipped past me and into my room just as Hal burst in. He saw her go. He came straight to me and I thought he would have struck me down where I stood.

‘Out of my way,’ he cried. ‘I will speak to her. Is it not enough to see?’ – he motioned toward the window with his wounded hand – ‘Let me pass!’

‘She is not there,’ I answered. ‘She has gone through into the other room.’

A light laugh sounded close by us, a faint, soft, silver laugh, almost at my elbow.

He flung me from his path, threw open the door, and entered. The room was empty.

‘Where have you hidden her?’ he demanded. I coldly pointed to the other door.

‘So her room opens into yours, does it?’ he muttered with a bitter smile. ‘No wonder you preferred the “view”! Perhaps I can open it too?’ And he laid his hand upon the latch.

I smiled then, for bitter experience had taught me that it was always locked, locked to all my prayers and entreaties. Let him kneel there as I had! But it opened under his hand! I sprang to his side, and we looked into – a closet, two by four, as bare and shallow as an empty coffin!

He turned to me, as white with rage as I was with terror. I was not thinking of him.

‘What have you done with her?’ he cried. And then contemptuously – ‘That I should stop to question a liar!’

I paid no heed to him, but walked back into the other room, where the great chair rocked by the window.

He followed me, furious with disappointment, and laid his hand upon the swaying back, his strong fingers closing on it till the nails were white.

‘Will you leave this place?’ said he.

‘No,’ said I.

‘I will live no longer with a liar and a traitor,’ said he.

‘Then you will have to kill yourself,’ said I.

With a muttered oath he sprang upon me, but caught his foot in the long rocker, and fell heavily.

So wild a wave of hate rose in my heart that I could have trampled upon him where he lay – killed him like a dog – but with a mighty effort I turned from him and left the room.

When I returned it was broad day. Early and still, not sunrise yet, but full of hard, clear light on roof and wall and roadway.