[Illustration:  “Barney sat staring at vacancy”]

He got up, trembling, and opened the door, and stood there looking at the woman, who held her hooded head down.

“It’s me, Barney,” said Charlotte’s voice.

“Come in,” said Barney, and he moved aside.

But Charlotte stood still.  “I can say what I want to here,” she whispered, panting.  “Barney.”

“Well, what is it, Charlotte?”

“Barney.”

Barney waited.

“I’ve come over here to-night, Barney, to see you,” said Charlotte, with solemn pauses between her words.  “I don’t know as I ought to; I don’t know but I ought to have more pride.  I thought at first I never—­could—­but afterwards I thought it was my duty.  Barney, are you going to let—­anything like this—­come between us—­forever?”

“There’s no use talking, Charlotte.”

Charlotte’s hooded figure stood before him stiff and straight.  There was resolution in her carriage, and her pleading tone was grave and solemn.

“Barney,” she said again; and Barney waited, his pale face standing aloof in the dark.

“Barney, do you think it is right to let anything like this come between you and me, when we were almost husband and wife?”

“It’s no use talking, Charlotte.”

“Do you think this is right, Barney?”

Barney was silent.

“If you can’t answer me I will go home,” said Charlotte, and she turned, but Barney caught her in his arms.  He held her close, breathing in great pants.  He pulled her hood back with trembling strength, and kissed her over and over, roughly.

“Charlotte,” he half sobbed.

Charlotte’s voice, full of a great womanly indignation, sounded in his ear.  “Barney, you let me go,” she said, and Barney obeyed.

“When I came here alone this way I trusted you to treat me like a gentleman,” said she.  She pulled her hood over her face again and turned to go.  “I shall never speak to you about this again,” said she.  “You have chosen your own way, and you know best whether it’s right, or you’re happy in it.”

“I hope you’ll be happy, Charlotte,” Barney said, with a great sigh.

“That doesn’t make any difference to you,” said Charlotte, coldly.

“Yes, it does; it does, Charlotte!  When I heard about Thomas Payne, I felt as if—­if it would make you happy.  I—­”

“What about Thomas Payne?” asked Charlotte, sharply.

“I heard—­how he was coming to see you—­”

“Do you mean that you want me to marry Thomas Payne, Barney Thayer?”

“I want you to be happy, Charlotte.”

“Do you want me to marry Thomas Payne?”

Barney was silent.

“Answer me,” cried Charlotte.

“Yes, I do,” replied Barney, firmly, “if it would make you happy.”

“You want me to marry Thomas Payne?” repeated Charlotte.  “You want me to be his wife instead of yours, and go to live with him instead of you?  You want me to live with another man?”