her own was out of order, and so was the clock. She
counted two hundred and fifty, and then, anticipating feverishly
the tonic glow of the tea in her breast, she poured out a cup. Only
colourless steaming water came forth from the pot. She had forgotten
to put in the tea! Misfortune not unfamiliar to dazed makers of tea in
the night! But to Rachel now the consequences of the omission seemed
to amount to a tragedy. Had she the courage to begin the interminable
weary process afresh? She was bound to begin it afresh. With her
eyes obscured by tears, she put the water back into the saucepan and
searched for the match-box. The water boiled almost immediately, and
by so doing comforted her.

While waiting for the infusion, she realized little by little that for
a few moments she must have been nearly hysterical, and she partially
resumed possession of herself. The sniffing ceased, her vision
cleared; she grew sardonic. All her chest was filled with cold lead.
"This truly is the end," she thought. She had thought that Julian's
confession must be the end of the violent experiences which had
befallen her in Mrs. Malden's house. Then she had thought that Louis'
accident must be the end. Each time she had been mistaken. But she
could not be mistaken now. No conceivable event, however awful,
could cap Louis' confession that he had thieved--and under such
circumstances!

She did not drink the first cup of tea. No! She must needs carry it,
spilling it, to Louis in bed. He was asleep, or he was in a condition
that resembled sleep. Assuredly he was ill. He made a dreadful object
in his bandages amid the disorder of the bed, upon which strong
shadows fell from the gas and from the stove. No matter! If he was
ill, he was ill. So much the worse for him! He was not dangerously
ill. He was merely passing through a stress which had to be passed
through. It would soon be over, and he would be the same eternal Louis
that he had always been.

"Here!" she said.

He stirred, opened his eyes.

"Here's some tea!" she said coldly. "Drink it."

He gave a gesture of dissent. But it was useless. She had brewed the
tea and had determined that he should drink a cup. Whether he desired
it or loathed it was a question irrelevant. He was appointed to
drink some tea, and she would not taste until he had drunk. This
self-sacrifice was her perverse pleasure.

"Come!... Please don't make it any more awkward for me."

With her right arm she raised th