l that do to me? You can't kill the love that's
tearing me up, by smashing his body to bits! You see, Louis, I've got
him, for ever and ever. The shining, knightly side of me has. But it's
the greedy side of me--the side that makes you grab out for
whisky--that's sticking teeth into me now. And you know how it hurts."

"God! I'll break his damned neck," he cried again, and raged off into
the Bush.

She crept into the house. A wild thought came to her that, if there were
any killing it would be Kraill who would do it. And he and she would run
away for awhile, right into the Bush, before people came to hang them.
She stopped breathing at the gloriousness, the primitive
full-bloodedness of it, and then writhed in horror at the greed of such
thoughts, and prayed passionately that a sentry might be put at the door
of her mind.

And she knew, very well, that presently Louis would be back--that he
would say once again all the foul things he had said before, now with
some glimmering of truth in them: that he would get money from somewhere
and be drunk to-night, for now, at least, he had excuse. Then he would
grin foolishly, and cry weakly, and rage and be futilely violent, and
she would have to take this quivering thing that housed her armoured
soul and make it do his service; she would have to undress him and wash
him so that Andrew, trotting in in the morning, should not see his
father in bed dirty; she would have to kiss away his ravings, soothe his
fears. Presently she shook her head many times. She knew that she could
never do that any more.

An hour, two hours passed. She sat quite still. Then a shadow crossed
the window and steps came on to the verandah. She did not move. Louis
stood by the door. Kraill was beside him. Louis looked quite sane, and
very unusually young and boyish. There was a queerly different look
about him. She stared at him for a moment; almost it seemed as though
she could see a shine about him for an instant. Then she looked at
Kraill, and he at her. She did not move, but her soul was on its knees
worshipping his beautiful, still eyes that were tragic no longer, but
very wise and sad. He read all that she did not say.

Louis coughed.

"Marcella--I'm sorry, old girl. Kraill has talked to me about it. He's
been--or rather--we've been bucking each other up."

He coughed awkwardly.

"Bucking each other up--no end, old lady," he added, and ran his hand
through his hair, making it wild, and rough