morning.

I wondered whether Richard knew that that was the last book he had been
reading, and I put it by, to tell him of it in the morning when he came.
But in the morning Richard did not come. Unusual again; and I was for an
hour or two surprised. He always found some excuse for coming on his way
down-town: and it was very odd that he should not want to explain his
sudden going away last night. But, as before, my lack of love made the
wound very slight, and in a little time I had forgotten all about it,
and was only thinking that this was Friday--and that Wednesday was
coming very near.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A REVERSAL

All this is to be sanctified,
This rupture with the past;
For thus we die before our deaths,
And so die well at last.

_Faber_.

Dinner-time came, and passed, and still Richard did not come. At eight
o'clock Ann brought the tea, as usual, and it stood nearly an hour upon
the table; and then I told her to take it away.

By this time I had begun to feel uneasy. Something must have happened.
It would necessarily be something uncomfortable, perhaps something that
would frighten me, and give me another shock. And I dreaded that so; I
had had so many. But perhaps, dreadful though it might be, it would
bring me a release. Perhaps Richard was only angry with me, and _that_
might bring me a release.

At nine o'clock I heard a ring at the bell, and then his step in the
hall. He was slower than usual in coming in; everything made me feel
confused and apprehensive. When he opened the door and entered, I was
trying to command myself, but I forgot all about myself when I saw
_him_. His face was white, and he looked haggard and harassed, as if he
had gone through a year of suffering since last night, when I left him
with the lamp and cigar in the library.

I started up and put out my hand. "What is it, Richard? You are in some
trouble."

He said no, and tried to speak in an ordinary tone, sitting down on the
sofa by my chair.

I was confused and thrown back by this, and tried to talk as if nothing
had been said.

"Will you have a cup of tea?" I asked; "Ann has just taken it away."

He said absently, yes, and I rang for Ann to bring the tea, and then
went to the table to pour it out.

He sat with his face leaning on his hand on the arm of the sofa, and did
not seem to notice me till I carried the cup to him, and offered it.
Then he started, and looked up and took it,