He wondered if she realized how irreparably her beauty was destroyed, and as he wondered he looked away, lest his eyes should wake that consciousness in her.

He had no idea how long they had been alone together.

Time was not measured by words, for neither had spoken much.

He had taken Henley's "Verses" at haphazard from the bookshelf and was turning over the pages, dipping here and there, in the fastidious fashion of a man in no mind for any ideas but his own.

Presently he broke out in a voice that throbbed thickly with emotion-- "Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul--" He had found the music that matched his mood.