led
everything."

She was shaken as though with a storm of sobbing. No sound escaped her.
She did a thing which was as amazing as it was beautiful. Raising his
hand which she had been holding, she hugged it against her breast.

IX

During the night he nodded. Once when he wakened, he found her tucking
the robe more closely about him. "Go to sleep. You're tired," she
whispered, patting his shoulder.

A strange woman--strangely maternal and beautiful! She never seemed to
think of herself. The women whom he had known had always demanded that
men should do all the giving. Even Terry had been like that. His
conception, of love had been of a continual bestowing with no hope of
reciprocity. To be allowed to give throughout one's life to the woman
beloved had seemed to him to be the maximum of married blessedness. He
knew better now. Lady Dawn had given so generously that she had
established a new standard; he would never again ask so little from any
woman. He began to perceive that all his approaches to love had been
self-abasing. In the true sense of the word he had never been in love.
Dream-intoxicated, yes! But all that he had experienced had been desire.
It was a new thought to him that a man must respect, even more than he
desires, the woman whom he covets.

His feeling for Lady Dawn was one of worship. When he wakened to find
her watching over him, it seemed to him that the Mother of God sat
beside him. When God's Mother is symbolized in a living woman, love is
reborn into the world.

The last time he awoke, dawn was breaking. The moon had grown feeble. A
chill was in the air. He sat up. "What! Still awake! I don't believe
you've slept a wink all night."

"I haven't. I didn't want. I've been enjoying myself."

"You look tired."

He commenced to pile cushions behind her and tried to coax her to take
some rest. "If you insist," she assented. "But I'd much rather not. I'm
like a child at a party; I want to last out every moment."

"Then let's talk. We're nearing London. We sha'n't get much chance for
being alone after we arrive. We don't know what we'll find. We may be
whisked away in opposite directions. Before we're separated, I want to
acknowledge what I owe you."

"It's cold," she shuddered, drawing closer to him. And then, "You owe me
nothing."

He was tempted to place his arm about her, but the cowardice of past
failure was strong upon him. He was afraid lest the ordinary gestures of
affection would