illy, and again
her voice sounded tearful and vexed. "Why don't you speak? I don't know
anything, I thought I must be with you, and that is why I went with
you. Didn't you say everything would be all right?"

Boris clung more tightly to Billy's arm and pulled himself up; the
upper part of his body rested on her, his face quite close to hers, and
now he kissed her with dry hungry lips.

"Yes," he whispered, "everything will be well if you but wish it so.
But I am so terribly afraid of one thing ..."

"You are afraid too," replied Billy dully, "well, then--"

"No, listen," continued Boris, and his whispers became strangely hot
and passionate, "if you but will. I am afraid of tomorrow, when it
grows gray and bright and we must do something and must be burdened
with care, and people will come and everything will be so ugly, the
others and we, and our love,--O Billy, I have never been able to endure
the first morning after such a happiness--"

"Why, we can't help the morning's coming," said Billy, still in her
vexed tone.

"Oh yes, we can," said Boris breathless with emotion, and his hands
closed around Billy's shoulders so tightly that it hurt her. "We are
together, aren't we?--and we can be so happy, so happy, that we shall
not wish to see another morning. That we can do. You will see. Come,
you and I, and then nothing but dying will be endurable." He stammered
this, bent down quite close to her, his face pale and ominous, and his
hands pulling feverishly at Billy's dress.

"Why, how can we die?" responded Billy wearily.

"How--is all one," answered Boris impatiently, "you will see, we cannot
go on living then."

Billy opened her eyes and looked at Boris keenly and anxiously. "Have
you that terrible little revolver that you showed me in the garden at
home, and that you said was your friend?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, but why speak of it," replied Boris impatiently, "we are
thinking only of ourselves now, of our happiness. Will you, tell me! We
are together, each beside the other, and there is nothing here but us,
and we had rather die than let anything else come near us."

Billy raised herself a trifle, and pushed Boris's hands, which were
ardently passing over her body, away from her like something irksome.
Her eyes grew wide and bright with fear, but her lips quivered as in a
mocking and slightly contemptuous smile: "Be happy--here among these
ugly red cushions. Oh, please leave me now. You--you are like the re