He was standing before her now and so poignant an anguish rang in his voice that Stella was moved by it to discard her plans.  Thus she had meant to tell the story if ever she was driven to it.  Thus she had told it.  But now she put out a timid hand and took him by the arm.

“I said I would tell you the truth.  But I have not told it all.  It’s so hard not to keep one little last thing back.  Listen to me”; and with a bowed head and her hand still clinging desperately to his arm she made the final revelation.

“It’s true I was crazy with fear.  But there was just one little moment when I knew what I was going to do, when it came upon me that the way I had chosen before was the wrong one, and this new way the right one.  No, no,” she cried as Thresk moved.  “Even that’s not all.  That moment—­you could hardly measure it in time, yet to me it was distinct enough and is marked distinctly in my memories, for during it he drew back.”

“What?” cried Thresk.  “Don’t say it, Stella!”

“Yes,” she answered.  “During it he drew back, knowing what I was going to do just as I suddenly knew it.  It was a moment when he seemed to me to bleat—­yes, that’s the word—­to bleat for mercy.”

She had told the truth now and she dropped her hand from his sleeve.

“And you?  What did you do?” asked Thresk.

“I?  Oh, I went mad, I think.  When I saw him lying there I lost my head.  The tent was flecked with great spots of fire which whirled in front of my eyes and hurt.  A strength far greater than mine possessed me.  I was crazy.  I dragged him out of the tent for no reason—­that’s the truth—­for no reason at all.  Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” replied Thresk readily enough.  “I can well believe that.”

“Then something broke,” she resumed.  “I felt weak and numbed.  I dragged myself to my room.  I went to bed.  Does that sound very horrible to you?  I had one clear thought only.  It was over.  It was all over.  I slept.”  She leaned back in her chair, her hands dropped to her side, her eyes closed.  “Yes I did actually sleep.”

A clock ticking upon the mantelshelf seemed to grow louder and louder in the silence of the library.  The sound of it forced itself upon Thresk.  It roused Stella.  She opened her eyes.  In front of her Thresk was standing, his face grave and very pitiful.

“Now answer me truly,” said Stella, and leaning forward she fixed her eyes upon him.  “If you still loved me, would you, knowing this story, refuse to marry me?”

Thresk looked back across the years of her unhappy life and saw her as the sport of a malicious destiny.

“No,” he said, “I should not.”

“Then why shouldn’t Dick marry me?”

“Because he doesn’t know this story.”

Stella nodded her head.

“Yes.  There’s the flaw in my appeal to you, I know.  You are quite right.  I should have told him.  I should tell him now,” and suddenly she dropped on her knees before Thresk, the tears burst from her eyes, and in a voice broken with passion she cried: