, she did not want to think
why. Through her brain swept a confusion of thoughts, thoughts
disconnected and chaotic. She tried to remember just what words on her
part--on Richard's--had led to that strange mad moment of revelation,
but the memory of the moment itself overleaped all those preceding it.
Julia knelt, her elbows on the window sill, and felt merely that she
never wanted to move again. She wanted just to kneel here, hugging to
her heart the thrilling emotion of the moment, realizing afresh that
life was not dead in her; youth and love were not dead in her; she could
still tremble and laugh and cry in the exquisite joy of being beloved.

And it was Richie, so weak in body, so powerful in spirit; so humble in
little things, so bold and sure in the things that are great; not rich
in money, but rich in wisdom and goodness; Richie, who knew all her
pitiful history now, and had long suspected it, who loved her! Julia
knew even now that it was an ill-fated love; she knew that deep under
this first strangely thrilling current of pride and joy ran the cold
waters of renunciation. But cool reason had little to do with this mood;
she was as mad as any girl whose senses are suddenly, blindly, set free
by a lover's first kiss.

After a while she began mechanically to undress, brushed her hair, moved
about softly in the uncertain candlelight. And as she did so she became
more and more unable to resist the temptation to say "Good-night" to
Richie again. Neither brain nor heart was deeply involved in this
desire, but some influence, stronger than either, urged her irresistibly
toward its fulfilment.

She would not do it, of course! Not that there was harm in it; what
possible harm could there be in her putting her head into the
sitting-room and simply saying "Good-night?" Still, she would not do it.

A glance at herself in the dimly lighted mirror set her pulses to
leaping again. Surely candlelight had never fallen on a more exquisite
face, framed in so shining and soft an aureole of bright hair. The long
loose braid fell over her shoulder, a fine ruffle of thin linen lay at
the round firm base of her throat. She was still young--still
beautiful--

Anna stirred, sighed in her sleep. And instantly Julia had extinguished
the candle, and was bending tenderly over the child.

"It's only Mother, Sweet! Are you warm enough, dear? You _feel_
beautifully warm! Let Mother turn you over--so!"

"Is it morning, Mother?" murmured