I have one myself. Let us share them together. Come, I see we need each other badly tonight.”

Compassionate beneath her light manner, she caught him by the back of the coat with both hands, and pulled him forcibly about. “Besides, I have your mackintosh and your sweater. You mustn’t be so reckless with your property.”

He followed her up the steps with obvious reluctance. She opened the door and drew him in through the glowing aperture.

“See, there’s a fire,” she cried gaily. “And after supper I’ll play to you.” She pointed to an upright in the corner. “I can play even on an old country piano,” she boasted.

And then she saw his face. It was paler than the hands which sought to conceal it.

“No, no music! Never again!” he muttered. He fell weakly into the nearest chair, and with a low moan laid his head on the arm.

Sudden intuition flooded Anne’s being. How blind she had been! How was it possible that she had not recognized him sooner? A figure so well known, seen and listened to by her so many times?

She approached and laid her hand on the bowed head.

“I know you now, Mr. Petrovskey. It was very stupid of me not to have guessed before, only the light in the hut was so very poor. But please don’t be worried,” she added gently, as his drawn young face looked up into hers. “I can keep a secret very well indeed, and my one desire is to help you. You are not fit to go back to that lonely cabin to-night. You must stay here, and we will see how you are in the morning.”

He cast a wild glance about the rustic little room, as if he feared someone might spring out upon him from behind the pretty chintz curtains.

“You cannot know how terrible this is,” he said. “It is only a few weeks now—since it happened.” He choked over the words. “And I feel as if I should like to hide forever.”

“But there is nothing to be ashamed of—” she commenced. “Ashamed,” he cried, savagely. “I’m not ashamed! Only I’m full of hatred, of disgust for everyone and everything. I wish I could die!”

The tortured voice sent a lump into Anne’s throat. She knelt beside the chair and laid a compassionate arm about the shaking shoulders.

“Come,” said she. “You are ill and over-wrought. We will go upstairs and Regina and I will help you to bed. There’s a good boy!”

The protective gesture, the kind words were too much. Utterly beside himself, he turned and laid his head upon the refuge of her breast.

“You are good, good,” he whispered. “You are not disappointed in me because I’m a failure. You are not greedy like the others, who only want what they can get out of me. Yes, I will trust you and I will stay.”

As he raised his head, she felt her neck was moistened with his tears.