“You had better go your own way, Reuben, and let me go mine.”

She drew apart, and not without actual fear of him, so brutal he looked, and so strangely coarse had his utterance become.

“You needn’t be afraid.  If I had hit you, I’d have gone away and killed myself; so perhaps it’s a pity I didn’t.  I felt a savage hatred of you, and just because I wanted you to take my hand and be gentle with me.  I suppose you can’t understand that?  You haven’t gone deep enough into life.”

His voice choked, and Miriam saw tears start from his eyes.

“I hope I never may,” she answered gently.  “Have done with all that, and talk to me like yourself, Reuben.”

“Talk!  I’ve had enough of talking.  I want to rest somewhere, and be quiet.”

“Then come home with me.”

“Dare you take me?”

“There’s no question of daring.  Come with me, if you wish to.”

They walked to the house almost in silence.  It was noon; Mallard was busy in his studio.  Having spoken a word with him, Miriam rejoined her brother in the sitting-room.  He had thrown himself on a couch, and there he lay without speaking until luncheon-time, when Mallard’s entrance aroused him.  The artist could not be cordial, but he exercised a decent hospitality.

In the afternoon, brother and sister again sat for a long time without conversing.  When Reuben began to speak, it was in a voice softened by the influences of the last few hours.

“Miriam, there’s one thing you will tell me; you won’t refuse to.  Is she still living alone?”

“Yes.”

“Then there is still hope for me.  I must go back to her, Miriam.  No—­listen to me!  That is my one and only hope.  If I lose that, I lose everything.  Down and down, lower and lower into bestial life—­ that’s my fate, unless she saves me from it.  Won’t you help me?  Go and speak to her for me, dear sister, you can’t refuse me that.  Tell her how helpless I am, and implore her to save me, only out of pity.  I don’t care how mean it makes me in your eyes or hers; I have no self-respect left, nor courage—­nothing but a desire to go back to her and ask her to forgive me.”

Miriam could scarcely speak for shame and distress.

“It is impossible, Reuben.  Be man enough to face what you have brought on yourself.  Have you no understanding left?  With her, there is no hope for you.  She and you are no mates; you can only wreck each other’s lives.  Surely, surely you know this by now!  She could only confirm your ruin, strive with you as she might; you would fall again into hateful falsity.  Forget her, begin a life without thought of her, and you may still save yourself—­yourself; no one else can save you.  Begin the struggle alone, manlike.  You have no choice but to do so.”

“I tell you I can’t live without her.  Where is she?  I will go myself—­”