ness an excuse for
remaining in her bed-room. And hence arose another trouble. The two
rooms were only divided by folding doors, and when Harriet got
impatient with what she conceived to be the visitor's undue stay, she
would rap on the doors, to summon Julian to her. This rapping would
take place sometimes six or seven times in half an hour, till Waymark
hastened away in annoyance. And indeed there was little possibility of
conversing in Julian's own room. Julian sat for ever in a state of
nervous apprehension, dreading the summons which was sure to come
before long. When he left the room for a moment, in obedience to it,
Waymark could hear Harriet's voice speaking in a peevish or
ill-tempered tone, and Julian would return pale with agitation, unable
to utter consecutive words. It was a little better when the meeting was
at Waymark's, but even then Julian was anything but at his ease. He
would often sit for a long time in gloomy silence, and seldom could
even affect his old cheerfulness. The change which a year had made in
him was painful. His face was growing haggard with ceaseless anxiety.
The slightest unexpected noise made him start nervously. His old
enthusiasms were dying away. His daily work was a burden which grew
more and more oppressive. He always seemed weary, alike in body and
mind.

Harriet's ailments were not of that unreal kind which hysterical women
often affect, for the mere sake of demanding sympathy, though it was
certain she made the most of them. The scrofulous taint in her
constitution was declaring itself in many ways. The most serious
symptoms took the form of convulsive fits. On Julian's return home one
evening, he had found her stretched upon the floor, unconscious,
foaming at the mouth, and struggling horribly. Since then, he had come
back every night in agonies of miserable anticipation. Her illness, and
his own miseries, were of course much intensified by her self-willed
habits. When she remained away from home till after midnight, Julian
was always in fear lest some accident had happened to her, and once or
twice of late she had declared (whether truly or not it was impossible
to say) that she had had fits in the open street. Weather made no
difference to her; she would leave home on the pretence of making
necessary purchases, and would come back drenched with rain. Protest
availed nothing, save to irritate her. At times her conduct was so
utterly unreasonable that Julian looked at her as