CHAPTER XIII.
RONNIE FACES THE UPAS Ronnie had walked from his wife's sitting-room, along the corridor and into the studio, in a state of stunned stupefaction.
He carried his 'cello in one hand, its case and bow, which he had picked up in the hall, in the other; but he had for the moment completely forgotten the Infant.
He leaned it against a chair, laid down the case, closed the studio door; then walked to the fireplace.
He stood looking at the great crackling logs, and into the glowing heart of the fire beneath them.
"Utterly, preposterously, altogether, selfish," he repeated slowly.
"That is what my wife considers me; that is as I appear to Helen.
Utterly--preposterously--altogether--selfish.

She is so lovely--she is so perfect! I--I have longed for her so! But _I_ am utterly, preposterously, altogether, selfish!" He put his arms upon the mantel-piece and dropped his head upon them.

He felt a queer contraction in his throat, a stinging beneath his eyelids, such as he had not experienced since the days of childish mortifications and sorrows.

But the instinctive manliness of him, held back the actual tears.

He was debarred, even in solitude, from that form of relief.
Presently he lifted his head, took out his pocket-book, and wrote down the words, spelling each with a capital letter.
He looked long at them; then suddenly exclaimed: "U, P, A, S! Why, it is the Upas tree; the deadly, mysterious, poisonous Upas tree! I found it in the jungle.