[BAH-Estrecho] A native passed, hunched up on the dashboard, driving a horse and a he

[Munstermann Kane]

 And he dropped to his knees asking mercy

on them both.
In his dulled ears still lingered the treble ringing

echo of the bell--lingered, reiterated, repeated incessantly, until he
thought he was going mad. Then, of a sudden, he realised that the
telephone
was ringing; and he reeled from
his knees to his

feet, and crept forward into the shadows,
feeling his way like a blind man. "Louis?" But he could not utter a
sound. "Louis, is it you?" "Yes," he whispered. "What is the matter?
Are you ill?
Your voice is so strange. _Are_ you?" "No!--Is it _you_, Valerie?"

"You know it is!" "Where--are you?" "In my room--where I have been all
day." "You have been--_there_! You have been _here_--in the city--all
this time--" "I came in on the morning train.

I wanted to be sure. There _have_ been such things as railroad delays
you know." "Why--_why_ didn't
you let me know--" "Louis! You will please to recollect that I had
until midnight ... I--was busy. Besides, midnight has just
sounded--and here I am." He waited. "I received your letter." Her
voice had the sweet, familiar, rising inflection which seemed to
invite an answer. "Yes," he muttered, "I wrote to you."
"Do you wish to know what I thought of your letter?" "Yes," he
breathed. "I will tell you some other time; not now.... Have you been
perfectly well, Louis? But I heard

all about you, every day,--through
Rita. Do you know I am quite mad to see that picture you painted of
her,--the new
one--'Womanhood.' She says it is a great picture--really great. Is
it?" He did not answer. "Louis!"
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