“Geisner?” said Ned, clumsily, having nothing particular to say.  “Has he seen it?”

“Once or twice,” observed Connie.  “It belongs to him.  He leaves it with me.  That’s how Harry’s seen it and you.  It’s the only thing he values so he takes care of it by never having it about him, you know,” she added, in the flippant way that hid her feelings.

“I suppose it is—­that it’s—­it’s the girl he—­” stumbled Ned, beginning to understand suddenly.

“That’s her,” said Connie, strumming some louder notes.  “She died.  They had been married a few days.  She was taken ill, very ill.  He left her, when her life was despaired of.  She would have him go, too.  She got better a little but losing him killed her.”

Ned gazed at the portrait, speechless.  What were his troubles, his grief, his sorrows, beside those of the man who had loved and lost so!  Nellie at least lived.  At least he had still the hope that in the years to come he and she might mate together.  His thoughts flew back to Geisner’s talk on Love on the garden terrace, in the bright afternoon sunshine.  Truly Geisner’s had been the Love that elevated not the Lust that pulled down.  The example nerved him like fresh air.  The pain that had dumbed his thoughts of Nellie passed from him.

“He is a man!” cried Ned.

“That wasn’t all,” went on Connie, taking the case from his hands and officiously dusting it with her handkerchief.  “When she was pining for him, dying of grief, because she had lost her strength in her illness, they offered him his liberty if he would deny the Cause, if he would recant, if he would say he had been fooled and misled and desired to redeem his position.  They let him hear all about her and then they tempted him.  They wanted to disgust the people with their leaders.  But it wasn’t right to do that.  It was shameful.  It makes me wild to think of it yet.  The way it was done!  To torture a man so through his love!  Oh, the wretches!  The miserable dogs!  I’d——­” Connie broke off suddenly to put the handkerchief to her indignant eyes.  The thunderstorm of her anger burst in rain.  She was a thorough woman.  “I suppose they didn’t know any better, as he always says of everybody that’s mean.  It’s some consolation to think that they overshot the mark, though,” she concluded, tearfully.

“How?”

“How!  Why if they had let Geisner go and everybody else, there’d be no martyrs to keep the Cause going.  Even Geisner, if his wife had lived, poor girl, and if children had grown up, could hardly be quite the same, don’t you know.  As it is he only lives for the Cause.  He has nothing else to live for.  They crushed his weakness out of him and fitted him to turn round and crush them.”

“It’s time he began,” remarked Ned, thoughtfully.

“He has begun.”

“Where?”