and clear. For he would not give her much longer now;
she saw that he had made up his mind. She felt his strength and
tenderness, his hunger for her growing. Sometimes it was frightening,
the power he was gaining. A touch of his hand and she would grow cold.
One evening when she had a headache, Joe bent over and kissed her.

"Good-night," he said, and left the room--left her burning, trembling.
She pressed both hands tight to her cheeks, pressed the hot tears from
her eyes.

At other times, she told herself, "Yes, I'm going to marry him. But
there's nothing to be so excited about--or scared like this. I know him
now, I know just what he is and what he is not. He is not a good many
things I had dreamed of, but he's so dear and kind and safe. And I want
to have children." Gravely wondering, she would look ahead. "You're no
longer a child, my dear. Be strong and sensible. This is
real. . . . It's getting rather cold tonight. I must run in and
see if Susette is warm."

She still felt Amy's presence. Out of the various rooms certain
pictures, chairs and vases forced themselves upon her attention. For
some time past she had disliked them. It seemed to her at moments as
though she could not have them here.

She knew what they were waiting for now. It was nearly the end of
October, and the day which both dreaded was nearly at hand, the
anniversary of her death. They spoke not a word to each other about it,
except once when Joe said gruffly:

"There's a bad time coming for both of us. Let's try not to be morbid
about it." As it drew nearer she felt, she must speak. She felt how
this unspoken name of her sister would keep rising, rising, between them
for the rest of their lives. It was uncanny, it was like a spell, the
force of this unspoken name; and she thought, "I must break it!"

And yet she did not speak. She had little opportunity, for she saw very
little of Joe that week. When the dreaded night arrived, he did not
come home until very late. From her room she heard him come in, and
presently by the silence she knew he had settled himself to work. She
barely slept, rose early and dressed herself with a resolute air. But
already Joe had gone.

It was a beautiful morning. With Susette she went to a florist's shop
and had the child pick out some flowers. Then they went out to Amy's
grave. And a moment came to Ethel there, an overwhelming moment, when
something seemed bursting up in herself and crying passionately: