“Evelina,” he said, his voice curiously soft, “I pledge you now, in a bond that cannot break!” Was it fancy, or did the violet eyes soften with tears, even though the scarlet lips smiled?

He drank.  The silken petals of the poppies, crushed into the peace that passeth all understanding, began their gentle ministry.  He made his way to his bed, put out his candle, and lay down.  The Spirit of the Poppies stood before him—­a woman with a face like Evelina’s, but her garments were scarlet, and Evelina always wore black.

In the darkness, he could not distinguish clearly.  “Evelina,” he called, aloud, “come!  Come to me, and put your hand in mine!”

At once she seemed to answer him, wholly tender, wholly kind.  Was he dreaming, or did Evelina come and kneel beside him?  He groped for her hand, but it eluded him.

“Evelina,” he said, again, “dear heart!  Come!  Forgive,” he breathed, drowsily.  “Ah, only forgive!”

Then, as if by a miracle, her hand slipped into his and he felt his head drawn tenderly to man’s first and last resting place—­a woman’s breast.

And so, after a little, Anthony Dexter slept.  The Spirit of the Poppies had claimed her own at last.

XXII

Forgiveness

Haggard and worn, after a sleepless night, Ralph went down-stairs.  Heavily upon his young shoulders, he bore the burden of his father’s disgrace.  Through their kinship, the cowardice and the shirking became a part of his heritage.

There was nothing to be done, for he could not raise his hand in anger against his own father.  They must continue to live together, and keep an unbroken front to the world, even though the bond between them had come to be the merest pretence.  He despised his father, but no one must ever know it—­not even the father whom he despised.  Ralph did not guess that his father had read his face.

He saw, now, why Miss Evelina had refused to tell him the man’s name, and he honoured her for her reticence.  He perceived, too, the hideous temptation with which she was grappling when she begged him to leave her.  She had feared that she would tell him, and he must never let her suspect that he knew.

The mighty, unseen forces that lie beneath our daily living were surging through Ralph’s troubled soul.  Love, hatred, shame, remorse, anger, despair—­the words are but symbols of things that work devastation within.

Behold a man, in all outward seeming a gentleman.  Observe his courtesy, refinement, and consideration, his perfect self-control.  Note his mastery of the lower nature, and see the mind in complete triumph over the beast.  Remark his education, the luxury of his surroundings, and the fine quality of his thought.  Wonder at the high levels whereon his life is laid, and marvel at the perfect adjustment between him and his circumstances.  Subject this man to the onslaught of some vast, cyclonic passion, and see the barriers crumble, then fall.  See all the artifice of civilisation swept away at one fell stroke, and behold your gentleman, transformed in an instant into a beast, with all a beast’s primeval qualities.