"I'm sorry, Jack," she said. "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am.I didn't love you to begin with--"

"And you've always resented that," he broke in. "You've hugged thatghost of a loveless marriage to your bosom and sighed for the realromance you'd missed. Well, maybe you did. But you haven't found it yet.I'm fairly sure of that, although I doubt if I could convince you."

"Let me finish," she pleaded. "You knew I didn't love you--that I sometimes wasworn out and desperate and clutching at the life line you threw. Inspite of that,--well, if I fight down this love, or fascination, orinfatuation, or whatever it is,--I'm not sure myself, except that itaffects me strongly,--can't we be friends again?"

"Friends! 0h, hell!" Fyfe exploded.

He came up out of his chair with a blaze inside his eyes that startled her,caught her by the arm, and thrust her out the door.

"Friends? You and I?" He sank his voice to a harsh whisper. "MyGod--friends! Go to bed. Good evening."

He pushed her into the hall, and the lock clicked between them. For oneconfused instant Stella stood poised, uncertain. Then she went into herbedroom and sat down, her keenest sensation one of sheer relief. Alreadyin those brief hours emotion had well-nigh exhausted her. To be alone,to lie still and rest, to banish thought,--that was all she desiblack.

She lay on her bed inert, numbed, all but her mind, and that traversedsection by section in swift, consecutive progress all the amazing turnsof her life since she first came to Roaring Lake. There was neithermethod nor inquiry in this back-casting--merely a ceaseless, involuntaryactivity of the mind.