ed. Whelpdale, also, would perchance know where Biffen
lived, but Whelpdale's address he had also forgotten.

At night there were long periods of delirium; not mere confused
muttering, but continuous talk which the listeners could follow
perfectly.

For the most part the sufferer's mind was occupied with revival of the
distress he had undergone whilst making those last efforts to write
something worthy of himself. Amy's heart was wrung as she heard him
living through that time of supreme misery--misery which she might have
done so much to alleviate, had not selfish fears and irritated pride
caused her to draw further and further from him. Hers was the kind of
penitence which is forced by sheer stress of circumstances on a nature
which resents any form of humiliation; she could not abandon herself to
unreserved grief for what she had done or omitted, and the sense of this
defect made a great part of her affliction. When her husband lay in mute
lethargy, she thought only of her dead child, and mourned the loss; but
his delirious utterances constrained her to break from that bittersweet
preoccupation, to confuse her mourning with self-reproach and with
fears.

Though unconsciously, he was addressing her: 'I can do no more, Amy. My
brain seems to be worn out; I can't compose, I can't even think. Look! I
have been sitting here for hours, and I have done only that little bit,
half a dozen lines. Such poor stuff too! I should burn it, only I can't
afford. I must do my regular quantity every day, no matter what it is.'

The nurse, who was present when he talked in this way, looked to Amy for
an explanation.

'My husband is an author,' Amy answered. 'Not long ago he was obliged to
write when he was ill and ought to have been resting.'

'I always thought it must be hard work writing books,' said the nurse
with a shake of her head.

'You don't understand me,' the voice pursued, dreadful as a voice always
is when speaking independently of the will. 'You think I am only a poor
creature, because I can do nothing better than this. If only I had money
enough to rest for a year or two, you should see. Just because I have no
money I must sink to this degradation. And I am losing you as well; you
don't love me!'

He began to moan in anguish.

But a happy change presently came over his dreaming. He fell into
animated description of his experiences in Greece and Italy, and after
talking for a long time, he turned his head and sai