eated: "I shall only be happy if you take everything that comes your
way. I shan't mind a bit." And she watched his face that had lost its
trouble.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Yes; really!"

"Then you do see that it's nothing, never has been anything--compared
with you--never!"

He had accepted her crucifixion. A black wave surged into her heart.

"It would be so difficult and awkward for you to give up that intimacy.
It would hurt your cousin so."

She saw the relief deepen in his face and suddenly laughed. He got up
from his knees and stared at her.

"Oh, Gyp, for God's sake don't begin again!"

But she went on laughing; then, with a sob, turned away and buried her
face in her hands. To all his prayers and kisses she answered nothing,
and breaking away from him, she rushed toward the door. A wild thought
possessed her. Why go on? If she were dead, it would be all right for
him, quiet--peaceful, quiet--for them all! But he had thrown himself in
the way.

"Gyp, for heaven's sake! I'll give her up--of course I'll give her up.
Do--do--be reasonable! I don't care a finger-snap for her compared with
you!"

And presently there came another of those lulls that both were beginning
to know were mere pauses of exhaustion. They were priceless all the
same, for the heart cannot go on feeling at that rate.

It was Sunday morning, the church-bells ringing, no wind, a lull in the
sou'westerly gale--one of those calms that fall in the night and last, as
a rule, twelve or fifteen hours, and the garden all strewn with leaves of
every hue, from green spotted with yellow to deep copper.

Summerhay was afraid; he kept with her all the morning, making all sorts
of little things to do in her company. But he gradually lost his fear,
she seemed so calm now, and his was a nature that bore trouble badly,
ever impatient to shake it off. And then, after lunch, the spirit-storm
beat up again, with a swiftness that showed once more how deceptive were
those lulls, how fearfully deep and lasting the wound. He had simply
asked her whether he should try to match something for her when he went
up, to-morrow. She was silent a moment, then answered:

"Oh, no, thanks; you'll have other things to do; people to see!"

The tone of her voice, the expression on her face showed him, with a
fresh force of revelation, what paralysis had fallen on his life. If he
could not reconvince her of his love, he would be in perpetual fear--