rather, it had surely been made up for her. For a conviction had come
upon her that for good or for evil it was meant that her life should
be linked with Dion Leith's. He possessed something which she valued
highly, and which, she thought, was possessed by very few men. He
offered it to her. If she refused it, such an offering would probably
never be made to her again.

To be a lonely woman; to be a subtle and profound egoist; to be loved,
cherished, worshiped; to be a mother.

Many lives of women seemed to float before her eyes.

Just before she lost consciousness it seemed to her, for a moment, that
she was looking into the pathetic eyes of the old man whom she had met
in the fog.

"Poor old man!" she murmured.

She slept.

On the following morning she sent this note to Dion Leith:


"MY DEAR DION,--I will marry you.

"ROSAMUND."



CHAPTER III