his laurels himself upon his head, ranking all others beneath him.  The clamor of the mob he had interpreted as acclaim.  Now he heard above the applause the hoarse chorus of disdain and fear.  It had been his pride to see men fall back and make way at the very mention of his name.  Now he felt that they shrank from him—­not before his greatness, but from his very contact.  He had driven his fellow creatures from him, and in return, they withdrew themselves.

If they came to him fawning, they but showed their lower natures.  He had not called forth the power for good, from these the necromancy of his personality had touched.  He had conjured evil, he had pandered to base forces.

The realization had not come easily.  His habits of thought would return and blind him as of old.  He had laughed at himself; he had derided the new gods, he had disobeyed them and their strange commands—­only to return crestfallen, contrite, feeling himself unworthy.  He became aware that he had run a long and victorious race for a prize he had craved—­only to find that the goal to which it brought him was not that of his old desires.  That was but withered leaves, spattered with the blood of those who lost.  He had turned from it, and now his steps sought another conquest and another reward.  He must strive for a goal unseen, but more real and more worthy than the little crowns of little victories.

His somber thoughts left him refreshed, as if from a bath of deep, clear waters.  His spirit felt clean and elated as it rose from the depths.  It was with a smile that he pushed back his chair and rose from the table where, for a full hour, he had sat in silent self-communing.  He still smiled as he entered the motor and was driven to Mrs. Marteen’s.

He found her awaiting him, with outstretched hands, and the look in her eyes that he always longed for—­the look he had divined rather than seen on that day of days, when the Past had been renounced and consumed.  There was no embarrassment in their meeting.  True, there had been daily exchange of letters during the months of her enforced exile; but they had been only friendly, surface tokens, giving no real hint of the realities beneath.  But they had grown toward one another, not apart.  It was as if they had never been sundered; as if all the experiences of all the intervening days had been experiences in common.

He gazed at her happily now, rejoicing in the firmness of her step, the brightness of her eyes, the healthy color of her skin.  She came with him gladly at his suggestion and they drove in silence through the crowded streets and the silence was in truth, golden.  At the door of the great house he descended, gave her his hand and conducted her quickly through the vast, soft-lighted hall to his own sanctum.  He closed the door quietly and pressed the electric switch.  Instantly the mellow lights glowed above the portrait, which throbbed in response, a glittering gem of warmth and beauty.