ed, and Antony, alone in the kitchen, raked down the
coals, covered the fire in the stove, heard the clock tick and the
whistles of the boat on the river. In the silence of the winter night,
as it fell around him, he thought: "I reckon I'll have to try to make
her happy, even if I cut out my miserable talent and kill it." And as he
straightened himself he felt the Presence there. The solemn Presence
that had come with her to his workshop and kept him company, and it was
so impressive that he passed his hand across his forehead as though
dazed, and opened the door of his bedroom to see her and be assured. She
was already asleep; by her side, the little basket prepared, waited for
the life to come. He stepped in softly, and his heart melted. He knelt
down and buried his face in the pillow by her side, and without waking
she turned her face toward him in her sleep.

CHAPTER XXXII

He did not go to the studio for a month, but though he remained with her
the poor girl profited little by his company. He smoked countless
cigarettes, in spite of the fact that he had doctor's bills to look
forward to. In the long winter evenings he read books that he fetched
from the library while the blizzards and storms swept round the window,
and the next day his duties stared him in the face. He dreamed before
the stove, his cigarette between his fingers, and Molly watched him; but
Rainsford, when he came, did not find her any more alone.

Finally, in the last Sunday of January, after the noon dinner, she
fetched him his coat and muffler.

"I can't let you stay home any more like this, Tony," she told him.
"Take your things and go to the studio; I'm sure you're dying to, and
don't hurry back. I'm feeling fine."

He caught her suggestion with an eagerness that made her bite her lip;
she kept her face from him lest he should see her disappointment. He
exclaimed joyously--

"Why, I reckon you're right, Molly. I _will_ go for awhile. I'll work
all the better for the holiday."

He might have said "sacrifice."

As he got into his things he asked her: "You're sure you'll not need
anything, Molly? You think it's all right for me to go?"

She assured him she would rest and sleep, and that the woman "below
stairs" would come up if she wanted anything. He mustn't hurry.

He took the studio key. He was gone, his uneven step echoed on the
narrow stairs. She listened till it died away.

Fairfax before his panel during the afternoon wo