ing the strike. It is a good place, for you can keep in hiding and still lead the fight. My blessings are with you and your cause."
The note was signed with Lily's name, and underneath it in the same sprawling hand was written, "O God! I love you. Good-by."
She had come in some time between the dawn and the broad daylight to leave the note by his side. She had passed him and gone away without a word, whither he could not possibly know. Nothing remained save a confused memory of her and this short, enigmatic, note which avowed nothing and yet everything.
For a long time Krylenko held the bit of paper between his strong heavy fingers, staring dully all the while at the generous impetuous writing, At last he took out a battered cigarette, put a match to it, and at the same moment set fire to the wisp of paper which he tossed among the cold ashes of the dead fire. . . . There are some things in this world which are impossible.
He got up and began pacing the floor angrily, up and down, up and down, scarring the polished floor at each step. It made no difference now. There was no one there any longer to use the floor. Presently he began muttering to himself. They are no different than the others. "They are all alike. When they are tired they run away because they are rich. Damn them and their money!"
And then all at once he went down upon his knees before the sofa and seizing one of the stained cushions in his arms, he kissed it again and again as if it were Lily instead of a feather-stuffed bit of brocade which he held in his arms.
