She came close and reached out a faltering hand. "John, don't do what
you'll be sorry for."

"I never have."

"When Fabian was born, you remember what you said? You said: 'Life's
worth living now.'"

"Yes, but what did I say when Carnac was born?"

"I didn't hear, John," she answered, her face turning white.

"Well, I said naught."




CHAPTER XII

CARNAC SAYS GOOD-BYE

Fabian Grier's house was in a fashionable quarter of a fashionable
street, the smallest of all built there; but it was happily placed,
rather apart from others, at the very end of the distinguished promenade.
Behind it, a little way up the hill, was a Roman Catholic chapel.

The surroundings of the house were rural for a city habitation. Behind
it were commendable trees, from one of which a swing was hung. In a
corner, which seemed to catch the sun, was a bird-cage on a pole, sought
by pigeons and doves. In another corner was a target for the bow and