as I have meant to do it. And so I tell you to keep away from me;
and I'll strike in the old-fashioned way, and end it--to-night."

Stunned by his sudden and dreadful metamorphosis, her ears ringing
with his disjointed incoherencies, she rose, scarcely knowing what
she was doing, scarcely conscious that he was beside her, moving
lightly and in silence out into the brilliant darkness of the
streets.

It was only at her own door that he spoke again: standing there on
the shabby steps of her boarding-house, the light from the transom
yellowing his ghastly face.

"Something snapped"--he passed an unsteady hand across his eyes;--
"I care very deeply for you. I--they'll make over to you--what I
have. You can study on it--live on it, modestly--"

"W-what is the matter? Are you ill?" she stammered, white and
frightened.

But he only muttered that she had her warning and that she should
keep away from him, and that it would not be long before she should
have an opportunity in life. And he went his way not looking back.

When he reached his studio the hall was dark. As he turned the key
he thought he heard something stirring in the shadows, but went
in--leaving the door into the hallway open--and straight on across
the room to his desk.

He was putting something into his coat pocket, and his back was