inconsequent little ceremony in itself but it fired a train in David's
mind, made for healing the wound in his heart and brought its
consequences. Another reconstruction campaign began to shape its policy
in the mind of David Kildare which had to do with the molding of the
destiny of the high-headed young woman of his affections, rather than
with the amelioration of conditions in his native city. So, high and
clear he sang the call of the mocking-bird with its ecstasies and its
minors.

But late as it was, after he had landed his guests at their doors, he had
a long talk over the phone with the clerk of his headquarters and sent a
half-dozen telegrams before he turned into his room. When he switched on
his lights he saw that Andrew stood by the window looking out into the
night. His face was so drawn and white as he turned that David started
and reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Dave," he said, "I'm a blackguard and a coward--don't touch me!"

"What is it, Andrew?" asked David as he laid his arm across the tense
shoulders.

"I thought I was strong and dared to stay--now I know I'm a coward and
couldn't go. I'll have to sneak away and leave her--hurt!" His voice was
low and toned with an unspeakable scorn of himself.

"Andy," asked David, as he swung him around to face him, "was Caroline
Darrah too much for you--and the moon?"

"There's nothing to say about it, David, nothing! I have only made it
hard for her: and killed myself for myself forever. She's a child and