ng his breathing softened and
grew soundless. And on the dawn of the sixth day he called her name,
"Nancy."

Then she knew that for a little time he would be given back to her. And,
as she nursed him, love in her moved with a new ardour and a new
surrender. For more than seven years her pulses had been proof against
his passion and his strength. Now, at the touch of his helpless body,
they stirred with a strange, adoring tenderness. But as yet she went
humbly, in her fear of the punishment that might be measured to her. She
told herself it was enough that he was aware of her, of her touch, of her
voice, of her face as it bent over him. She hushed the new-born hope in
her heart, lest its cry should wake the angel of the divine retribution.

Then, week by week, slowly, a little joy came to her, as she saw the
gradual return of power to the paralysed body and clearness to the
flooded brain. She wondered, when he would begin to remember, whether
her face would recall to him their last interview, her cruelty, her
repudiation.

At last she knew that he remembered. She dared not ask herself "How
much?" It was borne in on her that it was this way that her punishment
would come.

For, as he gradually recovered, his manner to her became more
constrained; notwithstanding his helpless dependence on her. He was shy
and humble; grateful for the things she did for him; grateful with a
heart-rending, pitiful surprise. It was as if he had looked to come back
to the heartless woman he had known, and was puzzled at finding another
woman in her place.

As the weeks wore on, and her hands had less to do for him, she felt that
his awakened spirit guarded itself from her, fenced itself more and more
with that inviolable constraint. And she bowed her head to the
punishment.

When he was well enough to be moved she took him to the south coast.
There he recovered power rapidly. By the end of February he showed no
trace of his terrible illness.

They were to return to Scale in the beginning of March.

Then, at their home-coming, she would know whether he remembered. There
would be things that they would have to say to each other.

Sometimes she thought that she could never say them; that her life was
secure only within some pure, charmed circle of inviolate silence; that
her wisdom lay in simply trusting him to understand her. She _could_
trust him. After all, she had been most marvellously "let off"; she had
not had to pay the extrem