too many things to arrange,' he said sharply, almost irritably.
Then his tone changed: 'Don't urge it, Catherine.'

His eyes in their weariness seemed to entreat her not to argue. She
stooped and kissed him, her lips trembling.

'When do you want to go to Thurston?'

'As soon as possible. Can you find me my fishing-basket and get me some
sandwiches? I shall only lounge there and take it easy.'

She did everything for him that wifely hands could do. Then when his
fishing-basket was strapped on, and his lunch was slipped into the
capacious pocket of the well-worn shooting coat, she threw her arms
round him.

'Robert, you will come away _soon_.'

He roused himself and kissed her.

'I will,' he said simply, withdrawing, however, from her grasp as though
he could not bear those close pleading eyes. 'Good-bye! I shall be back
some time in the afternoon.'

From her post beside the study window she watched him take the short cut
across the cornfield. She was miserable, and all at sea. A week ago he
had been so like himself again, and now----! Never had she seen him in
anything like this state of physical and mental collapse.

'Oh, Robert,' she cried under her breath, with an abandonment like a
child's, strong soul that she was, 'why _won't_ you tell me, dear? Why
won't you let me share? I might help you through--I might.'

She supposed he must be again in trouble of mind. A weaker woman would
have implored, tormented, till she knew all. Catherine's very strength
and delicacy of nature, and that respect which was inbred in her for the
_sacra_ of the inner life, stood in her way. She could not catechise
him, and force his confidence on this subject of all others. It must be
given freely. And oh! it was so long in coming!

Surely, surely, it must be mainly physical, the result of
over-strain--expressing itself in characteristic mental worry, just as
daily life reproduces itself in dreams. The worldly man suffers at such
times through worldly things, the religious man through his religion.
Comforting herself a little with thoughts of this kind, and with certain
more or less vague preparations for departure, Catherine got through the
morning as best she might.

Meanwhile, Robert was trudging along to Thurston under a sky which,
after a few threatening showers, promised once more to be a sky of
intense heat. He had with him all the tackle necessary for spooning
pike, a sport the novelty and success of which had hugely c