y go."

"I can't leave you like this," he said.

"Yes, yes, you can," she answered feverishly. "Oh, what does it matter?
Trevor, I must be alone. I must! I must! Please go!"

Her agitation was growing with every second, and he saw that he must
yield. He laid her back again without a word, smoothed the cushions,
touched her hair, and softly departed.

She listened tensely for the closing of the door, relaxing instantly the
moment she heard it. A great darkness descended upon her soul. She lay
motionless, face downwards, too stunned for thought.

A long time passed. It was growing late. Over the quiet garden the summer
dusk was falling. The swallows were swooping through it in their
multitudes--the swallows that Cinders loved to chase. To-night no cheery,
impudent bark pursued their flight. To-night all was still.

Did they miss him? she began to wonder dully. Did they ask each other
where he had gone? And then, half-consciously, she began to listen for
him, the scamper of the light feet, the gay jingle of his collar, till in
a moment she almost fancied that she heard him scratching at the door.

She was half off the sofa before realization stabbed her, and she sank
back numbly into her desolation.

Again a long time passed--an interval not to be measured by hours or
minutes. The swallows ceased to circle and went to roost. It began to be
dark. And still Chris lay alone, a huddled, motionless figure, prostrate,
crushed, inanimate. Her hands and feet were like ice, but she did not
know it. She was past caring for such trifles. All her abounding vitality
seemed to be arrested, as if her very blood had ceased to circulate.

It was growing late when the door opened at last. A figure stood a moment
upon the threshold, then entered, moving with a quick, light tread that
might have been the tread of a woman. In the darkness it reached her,
bent over her.

"_Ah, pauvre petite_!" said a soft voice, a voice so full of compassion
that it thrilled straight to her silent heart and made it beat again.
"All alone with your grief! You permit me to intrude myself, no?"

She turned and felt up towards him with an icy hand. "Bertie!" she said.
"You--might have come before!"

He knelt swiftly down beside her, pressing the little trembling fingers
against his neck to give them warmth. "But you are so cold!" he said.
"You must not lie here any more."

"Why not?" she said dully. "I don't think it matters, does it?"

"But of cour