scraping of chairs on the floor, and with a sense of release
Amherst saw that the colloquy in the window was over.

The two visitors, gathering their wraps about them, moved slowly across
the room, still talking to the matron in excited undertones, through
which, as they neared the threshold, the younger woman's staccato again
broke out.

"I tell you, if she does go back to him, it'll never be the same between
them!"

"Oh, Cora, I wouldn't say that," the other ineffectually wailed; then
they moved toward the door, and a moment later it had closed on them.

Amherst turned to his wife with outstretched arms. "Say you forgive me,
Justine!"

She held back a little from his entreating hands, not reproachfully, but
as if with a last scruple for himself.

"There's nothing left...of the horror?" she asked below her breath.

"To be without you--that's the only horror!"

"You're _sure_----?"

"Sure!"

"It's just the same to you...just as it was...before?"

"Just the same, Justine!"

"It's not for myself, but you."

"Then, for me--never speak of it!" he implored.

"Because it's _not_ the same, then?" leapt from her.

"Because it's wiped out--because it's never been!"

"Never?"

"Never!"

He felt her yield to him at that, and under his eyes, close under his
lips, was her face at last. But as they kissed they heard the handle of
the door turn, and drew apart quickly, her hand lingering in his under
the fold of her dress.

A nurse looked in, dressed in the white uniform and pointed cap of the
hospital. Amherst fancied that she smiled a little as she saw them.

"Miss Brent--the doctor wants you to come right up and give the
morphine."

The door shut again as Justine rose to her feet. Amherst remained
seated--he had made no motion to retain her hand as it slipped from him.

"I'm coming," she called out to the retreating nurse; then she turned
slowly and saw her husband's face.

"I must go," she said in a low tone.

Her eyes met his for a moment; but he looked away again as he stood up
and reached for his hat.

"Tomorrow, then----" he said, without attempting to detain her.

"Tomorrow?"

"You must come away from here--you must come home," he repeated
mechanically.

She made no answer, and he held his hand out and took hers. "Tomorrow,"
he said, drawing her toward him; and their lips met again, but not in
the same kiss.

XLIII

JUNE again at Hanaford--and Cicely's birthday. The anniversa