the reason he did not make an offer of marriage,
there by the great torrent that was rushing to the Falls, to a French
girl (whose name he got clearly) was that he did not know if his wife
was dead or living. He did not know it now. The oddity of it was that,
though he remembered clearly this incident hinging on the fact that
he was then a married man, he could remember neither the wife he had
married nor anything connected with her. He strove hard against this
partial insight into his past, which seemed to him stranger than
complete oblivion. But he soon convinced himself that a slight hazy
vision he conjured up of a wedding years and years ago was only a
reflex image--an automatic reaction--from his recent marriage. For
did not the wraith of his present wife quietly take its place before
the altar where by rights he should have been able to recall her
predecessor? It was all confusion; no doubt of it.

But his mind had travelled quickly too; for when Rosalind looked in
at his door he knew what he had to say, for her sake.

"Gerry darling, have you never been to bed?"

"For a bit, dearest. Then I found I couldn't sleep, and got up."

"Isn't it awful, the noise? One hears it so in this house.... Well,
I suppose it's the same in any house that looks straight over the sea."

"Haven't you slept?"

"Oh yes, a little. But then it woke me. Then I thought I heard you
moving."

"So I was. Now, suppose we both go to bed, and try to sleep. I shall
have to, because of my candle. Is that all you've got left?"

"That's all, and it's guttering. And the paper will catch directly."
She blew it out to avoid this, and added: "Stop a minute and I'll
take the paper off, and make it do for a bit."

"You can have mine. Leave me yours." For Fenwick's was, even now,
after burning so long, the better candle-end of the two. He took
it out of the socket, and slipped its paper roll off, an economy
suggested by the condition of its fellow.

But as he did so his own light flashed full on his face, and Rosalind
saw a look on it that scarcely belonged to mere sleeplessness like her
own--unrest that comes to most of us when the elements are restless.

"Gerry, you've been worrying. You know you have, dear. Speak the
truth! You've been trying to recollect things."

"I had nobody here to prevent me, you see." He made no denial; in
fact, thought admission of baffled effort was his safest course. "I
get worried and fidgeted by chaotic ideas wh