hed. He
stood there laughing, staring straight at her with his wide honest eyes.

"It's dead. It's all right," he said.

Her fingers were all dabbled with the blood of the rabbit that twitched
no longer. She could do nothing. She dropped the carcase with a
pitiful gesture of despair and burst into bitter tears.

She sat sobbing on the edge of the hollow. She could not see him, but
presently she heard his voice, curiously shaken with emotion, at her
side.

"I say, Mrs. Considine," he said. "Don't--please don't--I simply can't
stand it."

"Oh, get away--leave me alone," she sobbed. "I can't bear you to be
near me. It was so little. So happy----"

He wouldn't go. He spoke again, and his voice was quite changed--she
had never heard a note of feeling in it before. "I can't bear it.
You--I can't bear that you should suffer. I swear I won't do a thing
like that again--not if it hurts you. On my honour I won't."

"Yes, you will. I suppose you can't help it. It's awful. You haven't
a soul. You aren't human."

His voice choked as he replied. "I swear it--I do really. I could do
anything for you, Mrs. Considine. I feel that I could. For God's sake
try me!"

She compelled herself, still sobbing, to look at him. She saw that his
face was tortured, and his eyes full of tears. But she could say no
more, and they walked home in silence.

XIV

This distressing picture troubled Gabrielle for several days, and yet,
beneath her remembrance of anger and disgust, she could not help
feeling a curious excitement when she reflected that, for the first
time since she had known him, Arthur had shown her signs of pity and
tenderness. For a little while they lived under its shadow though
neither of them spoke of it again. Arthur, in particular, was awkward;
but whether he were ashamed of his cruelty, or merely of the effect
that it had produced on her, she could not say. Although she found it
difficult to believe in the first explanation she was deeply touched,
and perhaps a little flattered, by the possibility of the second.
Certainly his attitude toward her had changed. In everything that he
said or did, he now seemed pathetically anxious to please her, and even
this was encouraging. She didn't tell Considine what had happened.
She knew very well that he would consider the incident trivial and, in
a few words, shatter her illusion of its significance. And this fear
proved that she was not so very