aps if he had made a movement of affection he
would have caught her, but always when some expression of feeling was
especially demanded of him did he feel the least able to produce it.

The whole relationship between them depended on such slender incidents;
one word from anybody and there would be no more confusion or doubt; the
situation had the maddening tip-toe indecision of a dream.

"I'm going to have a bad time to-night," he thought. "It's no use giving
in to the thing." He faced it deliberately; if only he could think
clearly, but the damned weather.... Well, he and Jacob must face the
night as best they could.

The dog lay flat near the window, moving restlessly under the close air,
but pricking his ears at every movement that Roddy made, ready to come
to him at any instant.

"That old dog cares for me more than anyone else does--and I only
appreciated him after I was laid up--Rummy thing!" Roddy was conscious
that high above him, somewhere near the ceiling, hovered a Creature,
born of this damnable evening, and that did he allow himself to relax
for a moment, down that hovering Creature would come. Very faintly, as
it were from a great distance, he could catch its whisper in his ear.
"What's the good of this?... What's the good of this? What did you
always say? What would you have said about anyone placed as you are now?
Better for him to get out."

"Damn you, shut up...."

He was in great physical pain, the pain that always came to him when he
was tired out, but that was nothing to the mental torture. Twisted
figures--Rachel, Breton, himself, the Duchess--passed before him,
mingling, separating, sometimes coming to him as though they were there
with him in the room. He had not, even on the day that had told him that
he would never get up again, felt so near to utter defeat as he was now.
He had been proud of himself, proud of his resistance to what, with
another man, might have appeared utter catastrophe, proud of his dogged
determination. "To have the devil beat...." To-night this same devil was
going to be too much for him, did he not fight his very hardest, and the
cruelty of it was that this weather took all one's vitality out of one,
drained one dry, left one a rag.

"Curse you, get out," he muttered, clenching his teeth, then whistled
and brought Jacob instantly to his side. The dog jumped on to the long
sofa, taking care not to touch his master's legs. Then he moved up into
the hollow of Roddy's