nly to be forced back into the more general query:

"Your husband."

She smiled faintly.

"You've got me, haven't you, Barry?" A half-hysterical tone came now.
"You know a lot--and you want the rest, so you can pay me back, don't
you? Oh," and the thin fingers plucked at the bedclothes, "I expected
it! I expected it! I knew sooner or later--"

"If you're talking about me, Agnes--and what I've been led to believe,
we'll save that for a future time. I think I'm enough of a man not to
harass a person in time of grief."

"Coals of fire, eh?" A tinge of her old expression had come back, with
returning strength.

"Nothing of the kind. I simply wanted to help you--because you're a
woman in trouble. You're sick. Your baby's--gone. If I can get your
husband for you, I--"

But she shook her head, suddenly weak and broken, suddenly only what
Barry was trying to make of her in his mind, a grieving woman, in need.

"We're--not married. You'll know it sooner or later. I--I don't know
where he is. He was here three days ago and was coming back that
night. But he didn't. Maybe he's gone--he'd threatened it."

"He? You mean--"

She pressed her lips tight.

"I'm not going to tell--yet. You've got to do something for me first.
I'm in trouble--" she was speaking rapidly now, the words flooding over
her lips between gasps, her eyes set, her hands knitting. "My baby's
dead. You know that, don't you?" she asked suddenly, in apparent
forgetfulness of any previous conversation. "My baby's dead. It died
yesterday morning--all day long I held it in my arms and cried. Then I
slept, didn't I?"

"You were unconscious."

"Maybe I'm going to die." There was childishness in the voice. "Like
my baby. I baptized her before she went. Maybe I'm going to die too."

"I hope not, Agnes."

"You'd like to see me die!" The frail bonds of an illness-ridden brain
were straining at their leash. "I can see it in your eyes. You'd like
to see me die!"

"Why?" he could think of nothing else.

"Because--" and then she stopped. "No--you're trying to get me to
tell--but I won't; I'll tell when you come back--I'll tell what I said
and did when you bring me the note from the priest. You want me to
tell, don't you? Don't you? That's what you came here for. You found
out I was here. I--did he tell?" she asked sharply.

Barry shook his head.

"I don't know who you mean, Agnes."

"No? I think you're--"

"I was on