"And that you pursued her," Alva went on; "you can think that I befriended her then. I tried to help her. Because I, too, loved—and hoped."
"It was good of you," he said; "but they are mere adventuresses—not worth your troubling."
"But you have helped them?"
"I? Oh, yes. But," he hesitated; "I am tired of my life," he added suddenly. "I've turned over a new leaf—I've reformed."
"Since when?"
"Since yesterday."
She held hard to the bridge-rail. "Since yesterday," she repeated; "since yesterday?"
"Yes, since yesterday."
Her eyes were staring into his now. "Tell me about it?" she cried, as the starving cry out for food—"at once."
"I don't know about it. I just turned in disgust from myself. It was all in a minute. I wandered about all day and all last night. I tried to drink—you know I drink?—and then all of a sudden I realized what a beast I'd been, and I turned from it all. Something stronger than myself drew me to Geneseo this morning; something stronger yet drew me here; what led me out upon the bridge was strongest of all. I don't know what it all means, but perhaps you do."