anything
other than the memory of a joy that grew more fabulous as the
storm-tossed years rolled by. Daniel never saw her again, and never
heard from her again.

XVII

While the woman was singing, Gertrude had been standing down in the hall
listening. She knew every note of every song; every melody in the
accompaniment seemed to her like an old, familiar picture. She was also
aware that an artist by the grace of God had been in the house.

But how strange it was that she should find nothing unusual in the
incident. She felt that a living stream in her bosom had dried up,
leaving nothing but sand and stones in its bed. This inability to feel,
this being dead to all sensations, took the form of excruciating pangs
of conscience.

"My God, my God, what has happened to me?" she sighed, and wrung her
hands.

That evening she went to the Church of Our Lady, and prayed for a long
while. Her prayer did not appease her, however; she came back home more
disquieted than ever.

The door of the living room was open: Daniel and Eleanore were sitting
by the lamp, reading together from a book. The baby began to move;
Eleanore had left the door open so that she might be able to hear the
child when it woke up. Gertrude took the child in her arms, quieted it,
and returned to the door leading into the living room. Daniel and
Eleanore had turned their backs to the door, and were so absorbed in
their reading that they were not aware of Gertrude's presence.

A light suddenly came into Gertrude's heart: she became conscious of her
guilt--the guilt she had been trying in vain to fathom now for so many
cruel weeks.

She did not have enough of the power of love; therein lay her guilt. She
had assumed an obligation that was quite beyond her power to fulfil: she
had entered into marriage without having the requisite strength of
heart.

Marriage had seemed to her like the Holy of Holies. Her union with the
man she loved seemed to her to be of equal significance with the union
with God. But when she saw that this bond had been broken, the world was
plunged into an abyss immeasurably remote from God. And it was not her
husband who seemed to her to be guilty of infidelity; nor did she look
upon her sister as being the guilty one; it was she herself who had been
unfaithful and guilty in their eyes. She had not stood the test; she had
been tried and found wanting; her strength had not been equal to her
presu