"Never! He has driven me away, cast me off, and I hate him! I hated him from the very moment—I shall be free, anyway. He said nothing before he died?"
"Nothing."
"And this is all you can tell me?"
"All."
"Will you leave me now?"
"What, alone in this empty house?"
"It's my house, isn't it? I am still Mrs. Kirke, am I not?"
"Yes, of course, but—I"
"Will you go, please? You have discharged your errand. You have told me the dreadful truth. For God's sake, leave me!"
"May I not do something"
"Nothing—nothing. You may come back to-morrow morning and advise me what to do, if you will. I am alone now, you see."
Broadhead stood uncertainly before her.
"Go, go!" she pleaded. "Don't you see that I wish to be alone for a little? You have been very good to me. I thank you."
She hesitatingly put out her hand to him.
"Won't you shake hands with me?" she pleaded. "I did very wrong. I fell very low. But I am very sorry."
Upon an impulse for which he rejoiced ever after, Broadhead clasped the thin, tiny hand in his own, held it a moment, bent low over it, and, with old-fashioned gallantry, kissed it—that soiled, wasted hand I
"I forgive you," he said, and the voice of the dead seemed to speak to the woman through his lips.
He turned and left her alone,—alone in the darkness, alone with her memories, alone with her sorrow, alone with her repentance—alone with the weapon.
She lifted the heavy revolver with trembling hand. There was a single cartridge left in the chamber.
The next morning in great anxiety Broadhead came back to the house. He found the woman sitting quite white and still where he had left her, and the revolver was empty!
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ENOUGH
BY W. PFLUEGER
I HAVE had enough of women, and had enough of love,
But the land waits and the sea waits, and the open sky above.
Give me a long white road and the gray white path of the sea.
And the wind's will, and the bird's will, and the heartache still in me.
