night like this. Ah, yes! that evening after Gorbio, the little owl-moth
on her knee! He had touched her when he took that cosy wan velvet-eyed
thing off her!

She leaned out for air. What a night!--whose stars were hiding in the
sheer heavy warmth; whose small, round, golden moon had no transparency!
A night like a black pansy with a little gold heart. And silent! For, of
the trees, that whispered so much at night, not even the aspens had
voice. The unstirring air had a dream-solidity against her cheeks. But
in all the stillness, what sentiency, what passion--as in her heart!
Could she not draw HIM to her from those woods, from that dark gleaming
river, draw him from the flowers and trees and the passion-mood of the
sky--draw him up to her waiting here, so that she was no more this
craving creature, but one with him and the night! And she let her head
droop down on her hands.

All night long she stayed there at the window. Sometimes dozing in the
chair; once waking with a start, fancying that her husband was bending
over her. Had he been--and stolen away? And the dawn came; dew-grey,
filmy and wistful, woven round each black tree, and round the white
dove-cot, and falling scarf-like along the river. And the chirrupings of
birds stirred among leaves as yet invisible.

She slept then.

XVIII

When she awoke once more, in daylight, smiling, Cramier was standing
beside her chair. His face, all dark and bitter, had the sodden look of
a man very tired.

"So!" he said: "Sleeping this way doesn't spoil your dreams. Don't let
me disturb them. I am just going back to Town."

Like a frightened bird, she stayed, not stirring, gazing at his back as
he leaned in the window, till, turning round on her again, he said:

"But remember this: What I can't have, no one else shall! Do you
understand? No one else!" And he bent down close, repeating: "Do you
understand--you bad wife!"

Four years' submission to a touch she shrank from; one long effort not to
shrink! Bad wife! Not if he killed her would she answer now!

"Do you hear?" he said once more: "Make up your mind to that. I mean
it."

He had gripped the arms of her chair, till she could feel it quiver
beneath her. Would he drive his fist into her face that she managed to
keep still smiling? But there only passed into his eyes an expression
which she could not read.

"Well," he said, "you know!" and walked heavily towards the door.

The moment