f her husband. She would almost be glad, as he is to
die--her old friend--that she should have some certainty beforehand
of the exact time of his death, so that she might, only for an hour
a companion in her secrecy. If only he and she might have borne the
burden of it together! She reproached herself, now that it was too
late, with her mistrust of his powers of retaining a secret. See how
keenly alive he was to the need of keeping Sally's parentage in the
dark! And _that_ was what the whole thing turned on. Gerry's continued
ignorance might be desirable, but was a mere flea-bite by comparison.
In her strained, sleepless, overwrought state the wish that "the Major"
should know of her happiness while they could still speak of it
together grew from a passing thought of how nice it might have been,
that could not be, to a dumb dominant longing that it should be. Still,
after all, the only fear was that he should talk to Gerry; and how easy
to keep Gerry out of the room! And suppose he did talk! Would Gerry
believe him? There was risky ground there, though.

She was not sorry when no more speech came through the heavy breathing
of the invalid. He had talked a good deal, and a semi-stupor followed,
relieving her from the strong temptation she had felt to lead him back
to their past memories, and feel for some means of putting him in
possession of the truth. As the tension of her mind grew less, she
became aware this would have been no easy thing to do. Then, as she sat
holding the old hand, and wondering that anything so frail could still
keep in bond a spirit weary of its prison, drowsiness crept over her
once more, all the sooner for the monotonous rhythm of the heavy
breath. Consciousness gave place to a state of mysterious discomfort,
complicated with intersecting strings and a grave sense of
responsibility, and then to oblivion. After a few thousand years,
probably minutes on the clock, a jerk woke her.

"Oh dear! I was asleep."

"You might give me another nip of the champagne, Rosey dear. And then
you must go and lie down. I shall be all right. Is it late?"

"Not very. About twelve. I'll look at my watch." She does so, and it
is past one. Then the invalid, being raised up towards his champagne,
has a sudden attack of coughing, which brings in the nurse as a
reserve. Presently he is reinstated in semi-comfort, half a tone
weaker, but with something to say. And so little voice to say it with!
Rosalind puts her ear cl