In the little inner room she paused.  There was a light through the passageway beyond, but she stood here a moment, looking around her while memories of the place deepened the colour in her cheeks.

Then she went forward, timidly, and stood at his closed door, listening.

A sudden fright seized her; one hand flew to her breast, her throat—­covered her eyes for a moment—­and fell limp by her side.

[Illustration:  “She was longer over her hair ... gathering it and bringing it under discipline.”]

“Louis!” she faltered.  She heard him spring to his feet and stand as though transfixed.

“Louis,” she said, “it is I. Will you open your door to me?”

The sudden flood of electric light dazzled her; then she saw him standing there, one hand still resting on the door knob.

“I’ve come,” she said, with a faint smile.

“Valerie!  My God!”

She stood, half smiling, half fearful, her dark eyes meeting his, two friendly little hands outstretched.  Then, as his own caught them, almost crushed them: 

“Oh, it was your letter that ended all for me, Louis!  It settled every doubt I had.  I knew then—­you darling!”

She bent and touched his hands with her lips, then lifted her sweet, untroubled gaze to his: 

“I had been away from you so long, so long.  And the time was approaching for me to decide, and I didn’t know what was best for us, any more than when I went away.  And then!—­your letter came!”

She shook her head, slowly: 

“I don’t know what I might have decided if you never had written that letter to me; probably I would have come back to you anyway.  I think so; I can’t think of my doing anything else:  though I might have decided—­against myself.  But as soon as I read your letter I knew, Louis....  And I am here.”

He said with drawn lips quivering: 

“Did you read in that letter one single word of cowardly appeal?—­one infamous word of self?  If you did, I wrote in vain.”

“It was because I read nothing in it of self that I made up my mind, Louis.”  She stepped nearer.  “Why are you so dreadfully pale and worn?  Your face is so haggard—­so terrible—­”

She laid one hand on his shoulder, looking up at him; then she smoothed his forehead and hair, lightly.

“As though I could ever live without you,” she said under her breath.  Then she laughed, releasing her hands, and went over to the dresser where there was a mirror.

“I have come, at one in the morning, to pay you a call,” she said, withdrawing the long pins from her hat and taking it off.  “Later I should like a cup of chocolate, please....  Oh, there is Gladys!  You sweet thing!” she cried softly, kneeling to embrace the cat who came silently into the room, tail waving aloft in gentle greeting.

The girl lifted Gladys onto the bed and rolled her over into a fluffy ball and rubbed her cheeks and her ears until her furry toes curled, and her loud and grateful purring filled the room.