It was five years since he had had any word from her, that woman who bore his name out there in the West, and whom he remembered with fierce shame, or put away from his thoughts with cold bitterness.

He sat all night in the chair in which he flung himself when he came back from the professor's house to his room. The fire died in his grate, he did not heed it; he was cold as ice, he did not know it. The stars paled and faded as he sat there. He was making no plan of life, raking no old memories; he was stunned, dazed.

The negro whose duty it was to kindle his fire, hurrying in at his unlocked door, found him there asleep, his face white and ghastly under the glare of the full light. The coal scuttle the boy held fell with a clatter to the floor. Lawson stirred and opened his eyes.

"Boss," the negro chattered, "'fo' Gawd, I thought yuh was daid!"

[Pg 234]

Lawson looked at him dully.

"I'se late, monstrous late dis mornin'," he blurted, still scared at Lawson's look. "I'll mek yo' fiah in no time!" He knelt before the grate and began cleaning it out with trembling hands.

Lawson still sat, the light shining full on him, his evening clothes, the wilted rose in his button-hole, his heavy coat enwrapping hi............