f Silencieux were only an
image there was all the more reason to fear her.

When he returned he would go to Silencieux, go on his knees and beg for
the life of his child. Silencieux had been cruel, but she could hardly
be so cruel as that.

He drove back across the moor by the doctor's side.

"I have always thought you unwise to live in that valley," said the
doctor. "It's pretty, but like most pretty places, it's unhealthy.
Nature can seldom be good and beautiful at the same time." The doctor
was somewhat of a philosopher.

"Your little girl needs the hills. In fact you all do. Your wife isn't
half the woman she was since you took her into the valley. You don't
look any better for it, either. No, sir, believe me, beauty's all very
well, but it's not good to live with--And, by the way, have you had your
well looked at lately? That valley is just a beautiful sewer for the
drainage of the hills; a very market-town for all the germs and bacilli
of the district."

And the doctor laughed, as, curiously enough, people always do at jests
about bacilli.

But when he looked at Wonder, he took a more serious view of bacilli.

"You must have your well looked to at once," he said. "Your little girl
is very ill. She must be kept very quiet, and on no account excited."

Beatrice and Antony took it in turns to watch by Wonder's bed that
night, and once while Beatrice was watching, Antony found time to steal
up the wood with his prayer to Silencieux.

Never had she looked more mask-like, more lifeless.

"Silencieux," he cried, "I wickedly brought you my little child. O give
her back to me again! I cannot bear it. I cannot give her to you,
Silencieux. Take me, if you will. I will gladly die for you. But spare
her. O give her back to me, Silencieux!"

But the image was impassive and made no sign.

"Silencieux," he implored, "speak, for I know you hear me. Are you a
devil, Silencieux; a devil I have worshipped all this time? God help me!
Have you no pity,--what is her little flower-life to you? Why should you
snatch it out of the sun--"

But Silencieux made no sign.

Then Antony grew angry in his remorse: "I hate you, Silencieux. Never
will I look on your face again. You are an evil dream that has stolen
from me the truth of life. I have broken a true heart that loved me,
that would have died for me--for your sake; just to watch your loveless
beauty, to hear the cold music of your voice. You are like the moon that
turns