The Woman continued:
"And there are two roads through life even as there are two roses. The one is a rough road and weary, and on it happiness seldom treads. It is a plodding road, flat and long; and there you walk with stale and barren people, through a stale and barren land, until you come to an ending yet more stale and more barren than are road or people. That is the road of the White Rose. But the Road of the Red Rose! That's different! On the Road of the Red Rose there is laughter and light, and happiness and joy! Flowers bloom; birds sing. There come the soft wash of the sea—the silent whisper of the breeze—the call of Love!"
She rose lithely to her feet. In one hand she held the bending white blossom; in the other the crimson. Suddenly she thrust them toward him, body bent, lips parted, and cried, sibilantly:
"Which rose do you choose, My Fool? Which Road?"
Roughly he struck from her hand the drooping flower of white. That of red was crushed between them as he seized her in his arms and drew her to him.
"The red rose!" he cried. "And the Red Road! And we'll travel to the end, and beyond!"
[Illustration]
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.
THE RED ROAD.
From across the table she was laughing at him, brightly, merrily— laughing to see the havoc that she had wrought in the soul of a man. He turned to her, almost savagely.