ream of happiness again; she had been willing to be less than
true, and she could wish him to know that she hated herself for that.

It went on and on, in her brain; there was no end to it; no way to undo
the snarl that life had tangled itself up into. She looked at the clock
on the mantel, and saw that it was three o'clock. "Why don't you go to
bed?" she asked Charmian.

"I shall not go to bed, I shall never go to bed," said Charmian darkly.
She added, "If you'll come with me, I will."

"I can't," said Cornelia, with a sort of dry anguish. She rose from
where she had been sitting motionless so long. "Let me lie down on that
couch of yours, there. I'm tired to death."

She went toward the alcove curtained off from the studio, and Charmian
put her arm round her to stay her and help.

"Don't. I can get along perfectly well."

"I will lie down here with you," said Charmian. "You won't mind?"

"No, I shall like to have you."

Cornelia shivered as she sat down on the edge of this divan, and
Charmian ran back to put another stick of lightwood on the fire, and
turn the gas down to a blue flame. She pulled down rugs and draperies,
and dragged them toward the alcove for covering. "Oh, how different it
is from the way I always supposed it would be when I expected to sleep
here!" She sank her voice to a ghostly whisper, and yawned. "Now you go
to sleep, Cornelia; but if you want anything I shall be watching here
beside you, and you must ask me. Would you like anything now? An olive,
or a--cracker?"

"Nothing," said Cornelia, tumbling wearily upon the couch.

Charmian surveyed her white, drawn face with profound appreciation.
Then she stretched herself at her side, and in a little while Cornelia
knew by her long, regular breathing that she had found relief from the
stress of sympathy in sleep.

XXXVII.

The cold north-light of the studio showed that it was broad day when a
tap at the door roused Cornelia from a thin drowse she had fallen into
at dawn. She stirred, and Charmian threw herself from the couch to her
feet. "Don't move--I'll get it--let me----" She tossed back the black
mane that fell over her eyes and stared about her. "What--what is it?
Have I been asleep? Oh, I never can forgive myself!"

The tapping at the door began again, and she ran to open it. The
inexorable housemaid was there; she said that Mrs. Maybough was
frightened at her not finding either of the young ladies in their
rooms, and had