r rain that shrouded
the valley and beat down upon the defenceless, dismantled garden and
made pools in the hollows of the stone seat: that flung itself against
Honora's window as though begrudging her the warmth and comfort within.
Sometimes she listened to it in the night.

She was watching. How intent was that vigil, how alert and sharpened her
senses, a woman who has watched alone may answer. Now, she felt, was the
crisis at hand: the moment when her future, and his was to hang in the
balance. The work on the farms, which had hitherto left Chiltern but
little time for thought, had relaxed. In these wet days had he begun
to brood a little? Did he show signs of a reversion to that other
personality, the Chiltern she had not known, yet glimpses of whom she
had had? She recalled the third time she had seen him, the morning
at the Lilacs in Newport, that had left upon her the curious sense of
having looked on a superimposed portrait. That Chiltern which she called
her Viking, and which, with a woman's perversity, she had perhaps loved
most of all, was but one expression of the other man of days gone by.
The life of that man was a closed book she had never wished to open. Was
he dead, or sleeping? And if sleeping, would he awake? How softly she
tread!

And in these days, with what exquisite, yet tremulous skill and courage
did she bring up the subject of that other labour they were to undertake
together--the life and letters of his father. In the early dusk, when
they had returned from their long rides, she contrived to draw Chiltern
into his study. The cheerfulness, the hopefulness, the delight with
which she approached the task, the increasing enthusiasm she displayed
for the character of the General as she read and sorted the letters and
documents, and the traits of his she lovingly traced in Hugh, were not
without their effect. It was thus she fanned, ceaselessly and with a
smile, and with an art the rarest women possess, the drooping flame. And
the flame responded.

How feverishly she worked, unknown to him, he never guessed; so
carefully and unobtrusively planted her suggestions that they were born
again in glory as his inspiration. The mist had lifted a little, and she
beheld the next stage beyond. To reach that stage was to keep him intent
on this work--and--after that, to publish! Ah, if he would only have
patience, or if she could keep him distracted through this winter and
their night, she might save him. Lo