enly it struck her that she knew nothing of what
was in him, and yet he was her husband! "Husband"--funny word, not
pretty! She felt as a child opening the door of a dark room, and,
clutching his arm, said:

"Look! There's a sailing-boat. What's it doing out there at night?"
Another little thing! Any little thing!

Presently he said:

"Come up-stairs! I'll play to you."

Up in their sitting-room was a piano, but--not possible; to-morrow they
would have to get another. To-morrow! The fire was hot, and he took off
his coat to play. In one of his shirt-sleeves there was a rent. She
thought, with a sort of triumph: 'I shall mend that!' It was something
definite, actual--a little thing. There were lilies in the room that
gave a strong, sweet scent. He brought them up to her to sniff, and,
while she was sniffing, stooped suddenly and kissed her neck. She shut
her eyes with a shiver. He took the flowers away at once, and when she
opened her eyes again, his violin was at his shoulder. For a whole hour
he played, and Gyp, in her cream-coloured frock, lay back, listening. She
was tired, not sleepy. It would have been nice to have been sleepy. Her
mouth had its little sad tuck or dimple at the corner; her eyes were deep
and dark--a cloudy child. His gaze never left her face; he played and
played, and his own fitful face grew clouded. At last he put away the
violin, and said:

"Go to bed, Gyp; you're tired."

Obediently she got up and went into the bedroom. With a sick feeling in
her heart, and as near the fire as she could get, she undressed with
desperate haste, and got to bed. An age--it seemed--she lay there
shivering in her flimsy lawn against the cold sheets, her eyes not quite
closed, watching the flicker of the firelight. She did not think--could
not--just lay stiller than the dead. The door creaked. She shut her
eyes. Had she a heart at all? It did not seem to beat. She lay thus,
with eyes shut, till she could bear it no longer. By the firelight she
saw him crouching at the foot of the bed; could just see his face--like a
face--a face--where seen? Ah yes!--a picture--of a wild man crouching at
the feet of Iphigenia--so humble, so hungry--so lost in gazing. She gave
a little smothered sob and held out her hand.

II

Gyp was too proud to give by halves. And in those early days she gave
Fiorsen everything except--her heart. She earnestly desired to give that
too; but hearts onl