y side was cruelty and suffering. Only the
heartless and selfish--those who deserved to suffer--went free.

He pressed the back of his hand to his tired eyes; and, despite her
good deeds, he felt a sudden antipathy to Madeleine, who, on a day like
this, could take up her ordinary occupation.

In the morning, on awakening from a heavy sleep, he was seized by a
fear lest Louise should have died in the night. Through brooding on it,
the fear became a certainty, and he went early to Madeleine, making a
detour through the BRUDERSTRASSE, where his suspicions were confirmed
by the lowered blinds. He had almost two hours to wait; it was eleven
o'clock before Madeleine returned. Her face was so grave that his heart
seemed to stop beating. But there was no change in the sick girl's
condition; the doctor was perplexed, and spoke of a consultation.
Madeleine was returning at two o'clock to relieve the nurse.

"You are foolishly letting it upset you altogether," she reproved
Maurice. "And it won't mend matters in the least. Go home and settle
down to work, like a sensible fellow."

He tried to follow Madeleine's advice. But it was of no use; when he
had struggled on for half an hour, he sprang up, realising how
monstrous it was that he should be sitting there, drilling his fingers,
getting the right notes of a turn, the specific shade of a crescendo,
when, not very far away, Louise perhaps lay dying. Again he felt keenly
the contrariness of life; and all the labour which those around him
were expending on the cult of hand and voice and car, seemed of a
ludicrous vanity compared with the grim little tragedy that touched him
so nearly; and in this mood he remained, throughout the days of
suspense that now ensued.

He went regularly every afternoon to Madeleine, and, if she were not at
home, waited till she returned, an hour, two hours, as the case might
be. This was the vital moment of the day--when he read her tidings from
her face.

At first they were always the same: there was no change. Fever did not
set in, but, day and night, Louise lay with wide, strained eyes; she
refused nourishment, and the strongest sleeping-draught had no effect.
Then, early one morning, for some trifling cause which, afterwards, no
one could recall, she broke into a convulsive fit of weeping, went on
till she was exhausted, and subsequently fell asleep.

On the day Maurice learnt that she was out of danger, he walked deep
into the woods. The news