He, the one-woman man, had found the one woman—­and had lost her.  He looked out toward the house and through its thick log walls saw Gloria; Gloria as she had come down the stairs to him that first day, floating down like a pink thistledown, putting her two hands into his, looking up into his eyes with eyes which he would never forget; he saw her in the woods, riding with him; by the spring waiting eagerly for the little water-ouzel, she so like a bird herself; crossing a stream on boulders—­she had slipped; he had caught her into his arms—­close.  Her hair had blown across his face.  He stood with her on the highest crest of a ridge; the world lay below them, they were alone in the blue heavens.  And he loved her.  He groaned and ran his hand across his eyes as though to wipe the pictures out—­pictures which would never pass away.

Gloria was marrying.  Gratton.  Now.  He looked up into the sky bright with stars; its great message to him was “Emptiness.”  The world was empty, life was empty.  There was nothing.  Simply because Gloria had come, had laughed into his eyes, and had gone on.  She was like the springtime which came dancing into the mountains which softened them and brightened them—­and laughed and passed on and away.  She would be laughing now—­into Gratton’s eyes.

He would never see her again after to-night.  Other men had loved and their loves had crumbled to ashes, blown away by the winds of time.  But to-night he would see her.  The last time.  While still she was Gloria Gaynor and not Gratton’s wife——­

He started and hurried toward the house.  They were waiting for Jim and Jim had hurried.  He came to the porch and, with never a board to creak under his careful tread, he made his way silently around to the living-room side of the house.  There was a window there; the shade was not drawn; the curtains were blowing back and forth.  He drew close and stood, watching.  He would look at Gloria one last time, turning away just before the preacher said the last words; it was like looking for the last time on a beloved face before the sod fell——­

He saw her.  Her back was turned to him; her head was down.  He watched her fingers moving nervously at her sides and his brow contracted with a sudden access of pain.  Those fingers had touched his and he had thrilled to the soft, warm contact; he loved them better than he loved life.  And soon they would find their way into Gratton’s.

Not once did he move his eyes from her.  She did not turn toward him, but as the “judge” began talking she lifted her head and King saw her throat, her cheek.  How pale she was——­

Though her head was up, her slim body drooped.  Like a little wildwood flower wilting.  So she remained for what seemed a very long time.  Then suddenly he saw her body stiffen; her hands flew to her breast.  The “judge,” hurrying along, had asked: 

“And do you take this man to be your wedded husband?”