ce to hurry the cannon.

Jack made his way through the throng of officers to the stairs,
mounted them, and knocked at Lorraine's door.

"Is it you--Jack?"

"Yes."

"Come."

He went in.

Lorraine lay on the bed, quiet and pale; it startled him to see
her so calm. For an instant he hesitated on the threshold, then
went slowly to the bedside. She held out one hand; he took it.

"I cannot cry," she said; "I cannot. Sit beside me, Jack. Listen:
I am wicked--I have not a single tear for my father. I have been
here--so--all night long. I prayed to weep; I cannot. I
understand he is dead--that I shall never again wait for him,
watch at his door in the turret, dream he is calling me; I
understand that he will never call me again--never again--never.
And I cannot weep. Do you hate me? I am tired--so tired, like a
child--very young."

She raised her other hand and laid it in his. "I need you," she
said; "I am too tired, too young, to be so alone. It is myself I
suffer for; think, Jack, myself, in such a moment. I am selfish,
I know it. Oh, if I could weep now! Why can I not? I loved my
father. And now I can only think of his little machines in the
turret and his balloon, and--oh!--I only remember the long days
of my life when I waited on the turret stairs hoping he would
come out, dreaming he would come some day and take me in his arms
and kiss me and hold me close, as I am to you. And now he never
will. And I waited all my life!"

"Hush!" he whispered, touching her hair; "you are feverish."

Her head was pressed close to him; his arms held her tightly; she
sighed like a restless child.

"Never again--never--for he is dead. And yet I could have lived
forever, waiting for him on the turret stairs. Do you understand?"

Holding her strained to his breast he trembled at the fierce
hopelessness in her voice. In a moment he recognized that a
crisis was coming; that she was utterly irresponsible, utterly
beyond reasoning. Like a spectre her loveless childhood had risen
and confronted her; and now that there was no longer even hope,
she had turned desperately upon herself with the blank despair of
a wounded animal. End it all!--that was her one impulse. He felt
it already taking shape; she shivered in his arms.

"But there is a God--" he began, fearfully.

She looked up at him with vacant eyes, hot and burning.

He tried again: "I love you, Lorraine--"

Her straight brows knitted and she struggled to free herself.