lit in the place where a more passionate flame had once
burnt。
Now Katharine stopped； and Mary woke to the fact that
instead of having a goal she had evidently none。 She
paused at the edge of the crossing； and looked this way
and that； and finally made as if in the direction of
Haverstock Hill。
“Look here—where are you going？” Mary cried； catching
her by the hand。 “We must take that cab and go home。”
She hailed a cab and insisted that Katharine should get in；
while she directed the driver to take them to Cheyne Walk。
Katharine submitted。 “Very well；” she said。 “We may as
well go there as anywhere else。”
A gloom seemed to have fallen on her。 She lay back in
her corner； silent and apparently exhausted。 Mary； in spite
of her own preoccupation； was struck by her pallor and
her attitude of dejection。
“I’m sure we shall find him；” she said more gently than
she had yet spoken。
“It may be too late；” Katharine replied。 Without understanding
her； Mary began to pity her for what she was
suffering。
“Nonsense；” she said； taking her hand and rubbing it。
“If we don’t find him there we shall find him somewhere
else。”
“But suppose he’s walking about the streets—for hours
and hours？”
She leant forward and looked out of the window。
“He may refuse ever to speak to me again；” she said in
a low voice； almost to herself。
The exaggeration was so immense that Mary did not
attempt to cope with it； save by keeping hold of
Katharine’s wrist。 She half expected that Katharine might
open the door suddenly and jump out。 Perhaps Katharine
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perceived the purpose with which her hand was held。
“Don’t be frightened；” she said； with a little laugh。 “I’m
not going to jump out of the cab。 It wouldn’t do much
good after all。”
Upon this； Mary ostentatiously withdrew her hand。
“I ought to have apologized；” Katharine continued； with
an effort； “for bringing you into all this business； I haven’t
told you half； either。 I’m no longer engaged to William
Rodney。 He is to marry Cassandra Otway。 It’s all arranged—
all perfectly right… 。 And after he’d waited in the streets
for hours and hours； William made me bring him in。 He
was standing under the lamppost watching our windows。
He was perfectly white when he came into the room。
William left us alone； and we sat and talked。 It seems
ages and ages ago； now。 Was it last night？ Have I been
out long？ What’s the time？” She sprang forward to catch
sight of a clock； as if the exact time had some important
bearing on her case。
“Only halfpast eight！” she exclaimed。 “Then he may be
there still。” She leant out of the window and told the
cabman to drive faster。
“But if he’s not there； what shall I do？ Where could I
find him？ The streets are so crowded。”
“We shall find him；” Mary repeated。
Mary had no doubt but that somehow or other they would
find him。 But suppose they did find him？ She began to
think of Ralph with a sort of strangeness； in her effort to
understand how he could be capable of satisfying this extraordinary
desire。 Once more she thought herself back to
her old view of him and could； with an effort； recall the
haze which surrounded his figure； and the sense of confused；
heightened exhilaration which lay all about his neighborhood；
so that for months at a time she had never exactly
heard his voice or seen his face—or so it now seemed
to her。 The pain of her loss shot through her。 Nothing
would ever make up—not success； or happiness； or oblivion。
But this pang was immediately followed by the assurance
that now； at any rate； she knew the truth； and Katharine；
she thought； stealing a look at her； did not know the truth；
yes； Katharine was immensely to be pitied。
The cab； which had been caught in the traffic； was now
liberated and sped on down Sloane Street。 Mary was con
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scious of the tension with which Katharine marked its
progress； as if her mind were fixed upon a point in front
of them； and marked； second by second； their approach
to it。 She said nothing； and in silence Mary began to fix
her mind； in sympathy at first； and later in forgetfulness
of her panion； upon a point in front of them。 She
imagined a point distant as a low star upon the horizon
of the dark。 There for her too； for them both； was the
goal for which they were striving； and the end for the
ardors of their spirits was the same： but where it was； or
what it was； or why she felt convinced that they were
united in search of it； as they drove swiftly down the
streets of London side by side； she could not have said。
“At last；” Katharine breathed； as the cab drew up at the
door。 She jumped out and scanned the pavement on either
side。 Mary； meanwhile； rang the bell。 The door opened
as Katharine assured herself that no one of the people
within view had any likeness to Ralph。 On seeing her； the
maid said at once：
“Mr。 Denham called again； miss。 He has been waiting
for you for some time。”
Katharine vanished from Mary’s sight。 The door shut
between them； and Mary walked slowly and thoughtfully
up the street alone。
Katharine turned at once to the diningroom。 But with
her fingers upon the handle； she held back。 Perhaps she
realized that this was a moment which would never e
again。 Perhaps； for a second； it seemed to her that no
reality could equal the imagination she had formed。 Perhaps
she was restrained by some vague fear or anticipation；
which made her dread any exchange or interruption。
But if these doubts and fears or this supreme bliss
restrained her； it was only for a moment。 In another second
she had turned the handle and； biting her lip to
control herself； she opened the door upon Ralph Denham。
An extraordinary clearness of sight seemed to possess
her on beholding him。 So little； so single； so separate
from all else he appeared； who had been the cause of
these extreme agitations and aspirations。 She could have
laughed in his face。 But； gaining upon this clearness of
sight against her will； and to her dislike； was a flood of
confusion； of relief； of certainty； of humility； of desire no
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longer to strive and to discriminate； yielding to which；
she let herself sink within his arms and confessed her
love。
CHAPTER XXXII
Nobody asked Katharine any questions next day。 If cross
examined she might have said that nobody spoke to her。
She worked a little； wrote a little； ordered the dinner； and
sat； for longer than she knew； with her head on her hand
piercing whatever lay before her； whether it was a letter
or a dictionary； as if it were a film upon the deep prospects
that revealed themselves to her kindling and brooding
eyes。 She rose once； and going to the bookcase； took
out her father’s Greek dictionary and spread the sacred
pages of symbols and figures before her。 She smoothed
the sheets with a mixture of affectionate amusement and
hope。 Would other eyes look on them with her one day？
The thought； long int