bly, waking first Anne's white bed, a strip of white
cornice and a sheet of watery looking-glass. Nicky's saucer of milk
gleamed white on the dark floor at Anne's feet. The pale ceiling
lightened; and with a sliding shimmer of polished curves the furniture
rose up from the walls. Presently it stood clear, wine-coloured, shining
in the strange, pure light.

And in the strange, pure light he saw Anne, in her white wrapper with
the great rope of her black hair, plaited, hanging down her back. The
little black cat lay in her white lap, supported by her arm.

She smiled at Jerrold strangely. She spoke and her voice was low and
strange.

"He's asleep, Jerry. He kept on looking at me and mewing. Then he tried
to climb into my lap and couldn't. And I took him up and he was quiet
then. I think he was pleased that I took him ... I've given him the
morphia pill and I don't think he's in pain. He'll die in his sleep."

"Yes. He'll die in his sleep."

He hardly knew what he was saying. He was looking at Anne, and it was as
if now, at last, he saw her for the first time. This, this was what he
wanted, this mysterious, strangely smiling Anne, this white Anne with
the great plaited rope of black hair, who belonged to the night and the
dawn.

"I'm going to get you some tea," he said.

He went down to the kitchen where everything had been left ready for him
over-night. He lit the gas-ring and made the tea and brought it to her
with cake and bread and butter on a little tray. He set it down beside
her on the window-seat. But Anne could neither eat nor drink. She cried
out to him.

"Oh, Jerry, look at him. Do you think he's dying now?"

He knelt down and looked. Nicky's eyes were two slits of glaze between
half-shut lids. His fur stood up on his bulging, frowning forehead. His
little, flat cat's face was drawn to a point with a look of helpless
innocence and anguish. His rose-leaf tongue showed between his teeth as
he panted.

"Yes. I'm awfully afraid he's dying."

They waited half an hour, an hour. They never knew how long. Once he
said to her, "Would you rather I went or stayed?" And she said, "Stayed,
if you don't mind."

Through the open window, from the fields of charlock warm in the risen
sun, the faint, smooth scent came to them.

Then Nicky began to cough with a queer quacking sound. Jerrold went to
her, upsetting the saucer as he came.

"It's his milk," she said. "He couldn't drink it." And with that she
burst i