ver the chair, smoothing it carefully with his hands.

"If you will sit down, I will try and make a fire," he said quietly.

She sat down as he bade her, wondering a little at his calmness, but
remembering the awful words that had escaped his lips when she had
spoken, and the look of the wild beast and incarnate devil that had been
one moment in his face. She looked about her while he began to make a
fire, not hindering him, for she was shivering. The room was large, but
very poorly furnished. There were two great tables, covered with books
and papers; there was a deal bookcase along one wall and an antiquated
cabinet between the two windows, one of its legs propped up with a dingy
faded paper. The coarse green carpet was threadbare, but still whole.
There were half-a-dozen plain chairs with green and white rush seats in
various parts of the room. On the narrow white marble mantel-shelf stood
two china candlesticks, in one of which there was a piece of candle that
had guttered when last burning. In the middle a cheap American clock of
white metal ticked loudly, and the hands pointed to twenty minutes
before nine. In one corner was the clothes-horse, with two or three
overcoats hanging on it, and two hats, one of which was hanging half
over on one side. It looked as though two cloaked skeletons in hats were
embracing. In another corner by the door a black stick and an umbrella
stood side by side. But for the books the place would have had a
desolate look. The air smelt of strong tobacco.

Gloria looked about her curiously, though her heart was beating fast.
The man was familiar to her, dear to her in many ways, and over much in
her life. The place where he lived contained a part of him which she did
not know. Her breath came quickly in the anticipation of an emotion
greater even than what she had felt already, but her eyes wandered in
curiosity from one object to another. Suddenly she heard the loud
cracking of breaking wood. There was a blaze of paper from the
fireplace, illuminating all the room, and some light pieces he was
throwing on kindled quickly. He was breaking them--she looked--it was
one of the rush-bottomed chairs.

"What are you doing?" she cried, leaning suddenly far forward.

"Making a good fire," he answered. "There happened to be only one bit of
wood in my box, so I am taking these things."

He broke the legs and the rails of the chair in his hands, as a child
would break twigs, and heaped them up