Looking back on the last hour, it seemed impossible he had yielded to such delirium. He had arranged every detail for her, had written them down so she could not forget, and at this time to-morrow . . .
He could not pass that thought. He stood still in the cool night and looked up at the stars.
"God, it can never be!" he told himself despairingly.
He had said that she was as far above him as the stars, and here he was in his madness trying to bring a star down to earth.
It was not of himself he thought at all. He would have gloried in a shame shared with her; but for Marie, little Marie Celeste . . .
He went up to his rooms with dragging steps. There was a light shining through the half-closed door, and he supposed vaguely that he must have left it burning when he went out.
He pushed open the door, and saw Chris sitting in the chair where so short a time ago he had held Marie in his arms.
CHAPTER XXI
"I fought with my friend last night.