t was there in this to discompose and upset her, to make
her breath catch and her nerves thrill? A longing came on her that
Gerry should not look in to say good-night till she was in a position
to refuse interviewing on the score of impending sleep. She made a
dash for bed, and got the light out, out-generalling him by perhaps
a minute.

What could she expect? Not that little Tamerlane, as his father called
him, should die just to be out of her path. It was no fault of his
that he was his father's son, with--how could she doubt after what
Sally had just said?--the curse of his father's form of manhood or
beasthood upon him. And yet, might it not have been better that he
should have died, the innocent child she knew him, than live to follow
his father's footsteps? Better, best of all that the whole evil brood
should perish and be forgotten.... Stop!

For the thought she had framed caught her breath and held it, caught
her by the heart and checked its beating, caught her by the brain and
stopped its thinking; and she was glad when her husband's voice found
her, dumb and stunned in the silence, and brought a respite to the
unanswerable enigma she was face to face with.

"Hullo! light out already? Beg your pardon, darling. Good-night!"

"I wasn't asleep." So he came in and said good-night officially and
departed. His voice and his presence had staved off a nightmare idea
that was on the watch to seize on her--how if chance had brought Sally
across this unsuspected relation of hers, and events had forced a full
declaration of their kinship? Somnus jumped at the chance given by its
frustration; the sea air asserted itself, and went into partnership
with him, and Rosalind's mind was carried captive into dreamland.

But not before she had heard her husband stop singing to himself a
German student's song as he closed his door on himself for the night.

"War ich zum grossen Herrn geboren, wie Kaiser Maximilian...."

There could be no further unwelcome memories there, thank Heaven!
No mind oppressed by them could possibly sing "Kram-bam-bambuli,
krambam-bu-li!"

CHAPTER XL

BATHING WEATHER AGAIN, AND A LETTER FROM TISHY BRADSHAW. THE TRIUMPH
OF ORPHEUS. BUT WAS IT EURYDICE OR THE LITTLE BATTERY? THE REV. MR.
HERRICK. OF A REVERIE UNDER A BATHING-MACHINE, AND OF GWENDOLEN'S
MAMMA'S CONNECTING-LINK. OF DR. CONRAD'S MAMMA'S DONKEY-CHAIR, AND
HIS GREAT-AUNT ELIZA. HOW SALLY AND HE STARTED FOR THEIR LAST WALK