She was already
a classic ruin,--as wrecked and yet as perfect as the Parthenon.
He grasped her hand silently.
"Open-air speaking twice a week, and saleratus bread in the rural
districts, have brought me to this," she said feebly; "but it is
well. The cause progresses. The tyrant man succumbs."
Lothaw could only press her hand.
"Promise me one thing. Don't--whatever you do--become a Catholic."
"Why?"
"The Church does not recognize divorce. And now embrace me. I
would prefer at this supreme moment to introduce myself to the next
world through the medium of the best society in this. Good by.
When I am dead, be good enough to inform my husband of the fact."
CHAPTER IX.
Lothaw spent the next six months on an Aryan island, in an Aryan
climate, and with an Aryan race.
"This is an Aryan landscape," said his host, "and that is a Mary
Ann statue." It was, in fact, a full-length figure in marble of
Mrs. General Camperdown!
"If you please, I should like to become a Pagan," said Lothaw, one
day, after listening to an impassioned discourse on Greek art from
the lips of his host.
But that night, on consulting a well-known spiritual medium, Lothaw
received a message from the late Mrs.
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