It's such a horrid day," pleaded Katherine. "You'll get exceedingly
wet, and come back no warmer. It's going to rain or snow, or something."
As she spoke, the first drops of a cold sleet rattled on the skylight.

But Vincent was obstinate and restless.

"I must go, if it's only for a turn on the Embankment. What with my book
and your picture, I haven't stretched my legs all week. Come along, Ted.
You'll die, Kathy, if you persist in wallowing in oil-paint like that,
and taking no exercise."

They set out before a cutting north-easter and a sharp shower of rain
that froze as it fell. Katherine watched them as they crossed the street
and turned on to the Embankment. The wind came round the corner, as a
north-easter will, and through the window-sash, chilling her as she
stood. "There's nobody more surprised than myself," she said. "And yet I
might have known that if I went in for this sort of thing, I should make
a mess of it." She went back to the fire, and settled herself in the
attitude of thought. There was no end to her thinking now. Perhaps that
was the reason why she was always tired. Hitherto she had triumphed over
fatigue and privation by a power which seemed inexhaustible, and was
certainly mysterious. Much of it was due to sheer youth and health, and
to the exercise which gave her a steady hand and a cool head--much,
doubtless, to her unflinching will; but Katherine was hardly aware how
far her strength had lain in the absence of temptation to any feminine
weakness. Hitherto she had seen her object always in a clear untroubled
air, and her work had gained something of her life's austere and
passionless serenity. Now it was all different, and she was thinking of
what had made that difference.

Ted came back glowing from his walk; but Vincent was colder than ever.
He sat shivering over the Havilands' fire all afternoon, and went to bed
early.

"We'll finish that sitting to-morrow, Sis," he said, wearily. Ted went
out again to dine with Knowles, and Katherine was left alone.

It might have been her own mood, or the shadow of Vincent's, but she was
depressed with vague presentiments of trouble. They gathered like the
formless winter clouds, without falling in any rain. Then she realised
that she was very tired. She wrapped herself in a rug and lay down on
the couch to rest. And rest came as it comes after a sleepless night,
not in sleep deep and restorative, but in a gentle numbing of the brain.
She woke out o