ter day, night after
night, the slow tears creeping down her cheeks, thinking such thoughts
as these. The blow seemed to have broken her heart and her will to live.
It would have been a relief to her to be told that she must die.

Her weakness was probably responsible for part of the depth and darkness
of her despair. She was a puzzle to her sister-in-law, who had been used
to find in Nan a never-failing spring of brightness and gentle mirth.
Lady Pynsent began to see signs of something more than a physical
ailment. She said one day, more seriously than usual,

"I hope, Nan, you have not quarreled with your husband."

"Oh no, no," said Nan, starting and flushing guilty; "I never quarrel
with Sydney."

"I fancied there was something amiss. Take my advice, Nan, and don't
stand on your dignity with your husband. A man is ready enough to
console himself with somebody else if his wife isn't nice to him. I
would make it up if I were you, if there has been anything wrong."

Nan kept silence.

"He is very anxious about you. Don't you think you are well enough to
see him to-day?" For Sydney had not entered Nan's room since that
unlucky time when she fainted at his appearance.

"Oh no, no--not to-day," said Nan. And then, collecting herself, she
added, "At least--not just yet--a little later in the afternoon, I
mean."

"I'll tell him to look in at four," said Lady Pynsent.

So at four Sydney was admitted, and it would have been hard to say
whether husband or wife felt the more embarrassment. Sydney tried hard
to behave as though nothing were amiss between them. He kissed her and
asked after her well-being; but he did so with an inward tremor and a
great uncertainty as to the reception that he should meet with. But she
allowed him to kiss her; she even kissed him in return and smiled a very
little, more than once, while he was talking to her; and he, feeling his
heart grow lighter while she smiled, fancied that the shadow of sadness
in her eyes, the lifelessness of her voice and hand, came simply from
bodily weakness and from no deeper cause.

After this first visit, he saw her each day for longer intervals, and
realized very quickly that she had no intention of shunning him or
punishing him before the world, as he had feared that she would do. She
was so quiet, so gentle to him, that, with all a man's obtuseness where
women are concerned, he congratulated himself on being let off so
easily, and thought that the matter