It was midnight when Forrester got back home; he let himself into the dark house mechanically. He felt drunk with shock and the horror of all that had happened. He groped blindly along the wall and found the switch, flooding the hall with light, and as he did so he heard a little sound close to him on the stairs and a smothered cry.

He wheeled round sharply, and came face to face with his wife. She was at the foot of the stairs, dressed for travelling, and she clutched a small dressing-case in one shaking hand.

Forrester stared at her stupidly for a moment, and then his eyes turned to the clock. It was on the stroke of midnight! So late—and Faith going out! He tried to think, to understand, but his brain worked slowly, like machinery that wanted oiling through long disuse. Then suddenly he seemed to understand.

The blood rushed to his face in a passionate flood. He took a step forward and gripped her arm.

"Where are you going? Answer me."

She hardly knew his voice, and his eyes were like a stranger's, as she shrank back from him with a low cry of fear.

"Where are you going?" But there was no need for her to answer; he knew without a word being spoken.

He stood back from her, his hand falling from her arm as if it had grown nerveless, and for a moment there was absolute silence. Then the Beggar Man laughed, such a mirthless, heart-broken laugh that Faith cried out. She dropped the little suitcase she carried and ran to him.

"Nicholas ... Nicholas ... Oh, don't look at me like that!" She laid her hand on his sleeve, but he struck it down in blind fury. At that moment he was beside himself with rage and bitterness and sorrow for the tragedy that had come into his life.

And she seemed to realize that his thoughts were not only of her and the irrevocable step she had planned to take, and her frightened face whitened as she instinctively gasped her friend's name.

"Peg!"... Forrester turned away. He put his hand over his eyes for a moment, trying desperately to control himself, but his voice was thick as he answered mechanically:

"She died—in hospital—half an hour ago."

There was a tragic silence, then Faith stumbled backwards, catching at the balusters to save herself from falling. Her face was frozen with horror. She stared at her husband with fascinated eyes.

Then he seemed to awaken again to the desperate situation still confronting him; he caught her by both shoulders, shaking her savagely in his rage and despair.

"You were going—with Digby.... My God! I'll kill him—I'll——"

He broke off as the silence of the night outside was pierced by the shrill sound of a man's whistle.

For an instant neither of them moved. Then slowly, as if with difficulty, Forrester released her and turned towards the door.

Faith felt as if she were turned to stone. Then suddenly she rushed after him; she fell on her knees, catching at his hand.

"No—no ... I beg you ... no ... no.... Oh, if you ever loved me...."

He looked down at her upturned face, and his own writhed in desperate pain.

"If—I—ever—loved—you!" he echoed. Then he stooped, wrenched himself free of her, flung open the door and was gone out into the night.

* * * * *

Faith never knew how the hours of that dreadful night passed away. When daylight came she found herself in her own room, sitting on the side of the bed, staring down at the floor.

She felt incapable of thought or action; mind and body seemed frozen with a great horror.

Last night seemed like some terrible madness. She was sure she must have been mad.

Forrester had not come home, she knew, for her ears had been strained all night for the sound of his step.

When the maid brought early tea she cried out when she saw Faith.

"Oh, ma'am! What has happened? Miss Fraser's not in her room, nor the master...."

Faith tried to answer, but no words would come, and, touched by the white suffering of her face, the maid tried to persuade her to lie down.

But Faith only said, "Leave me alone ... leave me alone," till at last she was taken at her word, and the girl went downstairs to whisper and tremble with the other maids in the kitchen.

Forrester came in about eleven o'clock. He brought Mr. Shawyer with him, and went straight to his study and shut the door.

Faith's room was immediately above it, and she could hear their voices for some time—talking, talking.

Presently the maid came tapping at her door.

"Can Mr. Shawyer speak to you, please, ma'am?"

Faith rose mechanically and went downstairs and into the study.

Forrester was not there, but the lawyer rose from his seat at the table as she entered. His face was cold and stern, but it softened a little as he looked at her, and he held out his hand.

"Come and sit down." He spoke gently, as if to a child, but Faith shook her head.

"What do you want me for?"

He did not answer at once, and she asked dully:

"Is it true that Peg—Peg is ... dead? Or—or did I dream it?"

"It is quite true," Mr. Shawyer said.

Her brown eyes searched his face.

"She died saving your husband's life, Mrs. Forrester. He was waylaid by a gang of roughs, and...."

Faith made a little silencing gesture. The blood had rushed back to her white face; she did not want to hear any more. Peg had saved the Beggar Man's life. It gave her a stab of bitterest jealousy.

"Well ... well, what do you want me for?" she asked again presently.

Mr. Shawyer hated the task that had been entrusted to him.

"Your husband asked me to see you," he said reluctantly. "He wished me to tell you that he is ... going abroad as soon as he can arrange it—within the next few days possibly. He has settled a very generous income on you and your little sisters for life! A most generous income, which, he asked me to say, he hopes will in some measure make amends for your—your ... unfortunate marriage, for which he blames himself entirely."

Faith listened, but the words sounded like so much foolishness, and after waiting a moment Mr. Shawyer went on again, not looking at her.

"He also asked me to say that as soon as it is possible he will set you free, without annoyance or unpleasantness to yourself."

He stopped again and raised his eyes apologetically.

The girl's face was pathetic in its shocked pallor, and she broke out with wild incoherence, unconsciously using the very same words which the Beggar Man had once spoken to her.

"But ... but it's not possible to stop being married, like that, for no reason!"

Mr. Shawyer smiled cynically.

"No reason," he echoed. "Well...." and he shrugged his shoulders.

There was a long silence; then Faith asked with stiff lips:

"And is that—all?"

"I think so, unless there is anything you would suggest, any request you have to make."

"No." She stood there, twisting her hands together childishly, trying to understand the thing that had fallen upon her; then suddenly she broke out passionately:

"The twins don't want me.... They're quite happy. They don't want me any more. Where can I go?"

Mr. Shawyer did not answer. Against his better judgment he was conscious of a most unwilling pity for this girl. He knew the whole story now, had heard it that morning from Forrester's lips, so perhaps it was not altogether without intention that presently he said quietly:

"My dear child, there is ... Mr. Digby!"

Faith flushed scarlet from her throat to her hair. Such an expression of revolt and fear crossed her face that for a moment she no longer looked a child, but a woman who has lived a lifetime of bitter experience.

"If you knew—how I ... hate him," she said, and quite suddenly she broke down, hiding her face in her hands, her slender body shaken with passionate sobbing.

Mr. Shawyer rose. He made her sit down, and stood beside her, keeping a hand on her shoulder.

"My dear," he said, "I am an old man, and you are only a child! Is it too late for me to try and put things right between you and your husband?"

Faith shook her head.

"He hates me ... he'll never forgive me ... last night ... oh, I shall never forget his eyes!"

Mr. Shawyer walked a step or two away from her, then came back resolutely.

"Perhaps I shall be doing no good by my interference," he said gently. "But at least I can do no harm, when I tell you that my belief is that your husband has never ceased to care for you! No, no—he has said nothing to me——" he hastened to add, as Faith raised a face flushed with eager hope. "But I pride myself that I know him very well, and therefore I believe that he still has a great regard for you. When he came to me this morning he was utterly broken down—he had lost everything at one blow—his wife, his friend, and that brave girl Peg."

"Peg!" said Faith with a little shiver.

"The best friend either of you ever had," Mr. Shawyer insisted gently. "The most loyal friend!"

"Oh, I know, I know!" said Faith weeping; she could not bear to remember in what manner she and Peg had parted.

Mr. Shawyer went on steadily.

"Think what a shock her death has been to your husband, without his friend's treachery, and...." he stopped, feeling her shrink beneath his hand, and for a moment there was silence before he went on sadly:

"I have always looked upon Nicholas as a hard man of the world, perhaps incapable of deep feeling, but this morning he was just a broken-hearted boy when he came to tell me what had happened, and that is why I dare to ask you if you will not go to him, and beg for his forgiveness."

"Oh—I couldn't...."

He took his hand from her shoulder.

"Then I am afraid he will go away, and that you will never see him again."

Faith checked her sobbing. She sat with her hands clasped in her lap, staring before her with haggard eyes.

With every passing moment now it came home to her afresh how much she had lost, how much she had thrown away in her wilfulness and blindness.

She had been jealous of Peg, and now that Peg was dead, it would not help her at all. Forrester had done with her. She had seen it in his eyes last night, heard it in his voice.

Mr. Shawyer came back from the window and looked down at her very kindly.

"Surely it is worth sacrificing a little pride to win a great happiness," he said.

He waited a moment, but she did not speak, and he went away and left her.

A great many people seemed to come to the house. The door-bell was always ringing, and strange men were shut up in the study with Forrester, asking questions and making notes.

It was about Peg, Faith knew—Peg, who had died to save the Beggar Man's life, Peg whom she would never see again.

Later, driven by an irresistible impulse and her own terrible loneliness, she went up to Peg's empty bedroom and stood in the doorway.

Its gaudiness no longer offended her, though the bright sunlight flooded the room and shone glaringly on the brilliant green cushions and horrible wall-paper.

Peg's Oriental slippers stood at the foot of the bed and her gay dressing-gown hung limply across a chair.

It seemed impossible that Peg would never come back any more.

She had always been so alive! Oh, it could not be really true that she was dead.

A half-finished pink-backed novelette lay on the bed where Peg had flung it down unfinished last night when she went out, and Faith took it up with reverent fingers.

She opened it at the page Peg had been reading, and of which she had turned down the corner, and her eyes fell on the words:

"But the beautiful girl had died with a smile on her rosy red lips. She had given her life for love, and for love's dear sake, and was content...."

Faith shivered. Peg had died the death she would have chosen, had the choice been given to her, she knew, and yet....

"If I could only see her again!" The thought rushed through Faith's heart with passionate longing.

Peg had been such a true friend. A thousand little memories came crowding back to her as she stood there in the rainbow room which Peg had so adored.

Just to see her for a moment, just to say she was sorry, to ask her pardon, to thank her for all she had done.

But it was too late. The most passionate prayer in all the world can never put back the hand of time even for one second.

The day dragged away, and the house quieted down. It was like a tomb, Faith thought, as she wandered restlessly about through the empty rooms.

She felt as if she would go mad in her loneliness. She would have given her soul for someone in whom she could confide.

The maids came to try and coax her to eat, but she shook her head.

"I can't. Oh, please leave me alone!"

Later in the evening she crept downstairs and stood outside her husband's closed door. He was alone there she knew! She wondered what he was thinking—if his thoughts were of Peg—and suddenly Mr. Shawyer's words came back to her.

"Surely it is worth sacrificing a little pride to win a great happiness."

Was it still hers to win? She had no real hope, but her feet unconsciously moved a little nearer to that shut door.

Twice, three times, she raised her hand to knock, and let it fall again to her side.

She had no courage. She feared him as she had never feared anyone in her life, and yet ... once he had been all that was good and kind! Her aching mind recalled the first days of their acquaintance, his gentleness and generosity, and with a fresh spurt of courage she lifted her hand and tapped timidly on the door.

"Come in!" It was her husband's voice, but now again her courage failed her, and she stood shaking from head to foot, incapable of action.

She heard his step across the room, and then the door opened and he stood looking at her.

"You! What do you want?" His voice was not unkind, in spite of the bluntness of the words, and in desperation she raised her eyes.

"I want to speak to you."

There was a little silence. She could read refusal in his face, but after a moment he opened the door wide, and stood aside for her to enter, closing it again after her.

"Well?" He went back to the table at which he had been writing, and looked at her across it with hard eyes.

He was so ill, so worn! Faith stood looking at him in dumb pain, and he asked again impatiently:

"What do you want?"

"I want you to forgive me."

She was not conscious of having spoken the words, and was terrified when she heard them echo through the silent room. She felt as if she must fall. She put her hand on a chair back to steady herself, not daring to raise her eyes.

Then the Beggar Man gave a dry little laugh.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why?—why?" She echoed the word stammeringly, and he went on ruthlessly:

"Because you are afraid of being left? Is that it? You need not be. Digby will marry you as soon as I have set you free. I have not hurt him—yet! I have told him that I am waiting to see first how he treats you."

"I don't want him!" The words were a heartbroken cry. "Oh, I never, never did want him."

There were lines of pain in the Beggar Man's face as he looked at her. His lips moved twice before he could frame any words.

"Who or what do you want then?" he asked hoarsely.

"You!" She answered him in passionate desperation. It was her last throw for happiness.

She counted the flying seconds before he spoke, with her thudding heartbeats, and they seemed to stop when he laughed.

"You can hardly expect me to believe that," he said.

She found her voice with a great effort.

"I know ... but it's the truth—all the same."

She was fighting for something greater than life—happiness! And though with each moment since she came into the room it seemed to be more surely eluding her, she went on, hardly knowing what she said:

"I know you don't believe me—but it's true.... I never cared for—for Mr. Digby ... but ... but I was jealous ... of Peg!" Her voice faltered over the little name, and it was with an effort that she forced herself to continue. "You seemed to like her ... better than me ... and—and ... I was jealous...." She spoke the words again passionately, conscious of their unconvincing sound, their parrot-like repetition.

Forrester came towards her till but a step divided them.

"You expect me to believe that?" he asked hoarsely. "When I've been waiting all these weeks, all these months for you to give me one look ... one smallest hope ... when I've been a beggar at your feet, hoping against hope that some day you'd throw me a smile...." He swung round from her with a passionate gesture of disbelief.

She had pleaded to him in vain, and she knew it. She had humbled herself unavailingly. The room swam giddily before her eyes as she looked at Forrester. Such a man for a woman to love, and yet she, blind as she had been, had not seen until too late, all that she was throwing away.

She made a little inarticulate sound of despair and Forrester turned.

He stepped past her and opened the door.

"I am leaving here early in the morning," he said. "I shall not trouble you again. Good-bye."

Something seemed to snap in Faith's heart. She stumbled towards him and would have fallen at his feet but for his upholding hand. She broke into wild, incoherent words, clinging to him desperately.

"Don't leave me ... I can't bear it.... I love you. Forgive me. I've nobody in all the world ... oh, forgive me ... forgive me...."

"Faith!" The Beggar Man spoke her name with a great cry. For a moment he held her from him, looking into her face with eyes of passionate hope and disbelief. Then he caught her to his heart.

She clung to him like a lost child that has suddenly found its home again; the dread of the future without him found its reaction in a storm of tearless sobbing.

"Don't leave me—oh, don't leave me," was all she could say again and again.

He took her up in his arms and carried her over to the big chair by the fire, as if she had been a child; he spoke to her gently, soothing her, comforting her, forgetting his own troubles in his infinite pity for her, till she lay quiet at last, her face hidden against him, her hands clinging to his coat as if even now she feared that he might leave her.

Above her head the Beggar Man looked out into the silent room with sad eyes; he had got his happiness at last, but at what a cost!

He knew that he owed everything to Peg, and for a moment he lost himself in the past, with a vivid memory of her, her bold, defiant beauty, and swinging gipsy earrings.

That she had cared for him, he knew well enough; the light in her eyes had told him that at the last, if never before.

But Peg was dead, and the past gone forever....

He looked down at Faith, and found her eyes upon him with a new wistfulness and humility in their brown depths that awoke all the old love and protective tenderness he had once known for her; and the vivid memory of Peg paled and faded away as he bent to kiss his wife with passionate thankfulness—a Beggar Man at her feet no longer, but a King, come proudly to his Throne.