," she said, rising.

He held open the door for her, and she went out, her swollen eyelids
lowered. His heart gave a great gulp as she passed him--half love, half
anger. His vanity ached with resentment that she should hold out against
him like this. What was left of love ached also with the dread of losing
her. He was beginning to take it in that he really might lose her.

As he changed for dinner, he bruised his brain trying to recall exactly
the words that he had used to her in that mad outbreak of jealousy. He
could not remember half. But what he did remember made him scorch with
shame. No wonder she had revolted!... No wonder!... No wonder!... He had
this spasmodic burst of inward honesty. But then again she was _too_
hard ... _too_ self-righteous. Yes, damn it all ... that was what she
was--"self-righteous"!

A reaction of mood began to set in. The dinner was constrained and
painful to a degree. Every one was glad to go to bed early and break up
the oppressive evening.

That night Belinda haunted Loring's dreams. He would wake up
aflame--resentful ... then plunge back into the maze of lurid dreams
again. Towards morning he had a long, hateful illusion of being married
to both Sophy and Belinda. He was going up an endless church-aisle all
sickly with flowers--and on either arm was a bride in veil and
orange-blossoms. And one of these brides was Sophy, and one Belinda.

The dream was ridiculous and horrible as well as hateful. The clergyman
was a huge negro, all in red. He wore an Oxford cap and married them out
of a little box covered with red velvet, instead of out of a
prayer-book. This box was a music-box. The clergyman explained. He said:
"When I grind the first tune, you will be married to this woman." He
pointed at Sophy. "When I grind the second tune, you will be married to
this woman." He indicated Belinda. Then he ground away at the little red
velvet box. The tunes were rag-time. The big negro patted with his foot
as he ground them out.... Then he gave Sophy a ring, and Belinda a
pointed knife. He said:

"_This is the black knife of Lur; it cuts through all things._"

And at these words, Loring broke out in the horrible cold sweat of fear
that only a dream can give.

Then everything changed. He lay in the midst of a frightful, black,
catafalque-like bed. On one side lay Sophy, on one side Belinda. He
could see Belinda; but try as he might he could not see Sophy, though he
knew that she was lying a