d Ephie's tears dried through pure fear; but the sight
of these two made her laugh more violently than before. She held her
face in her hands, and pressed her jaws together as though she would
break them; for they shook with a nervous convulsion. Her whole body
began to shake, with the efforts she made at repression.

Ephie cowered in her seat. "Oh, Maurice, let us go. I'm so afraid," she
implored him.

"Don't be frightened! It's all right." But he was following Louise
about the room, entreating her to regain the mastery of herself. When
he did happen to notice Ephie more closely, he said: "Go downstairs,
and wait for me there. I'll come soon."

Ephie did not need twice telling: she turned and fled. He heard the
hall-door bang behind her.

"Do try to control yourself. Miss Dufrayer--Louise! Every one in the
house will hear you."

But she only laughed the more. And now the merest trifles helped to
increase the paroxysm--the way Maurice worked his hands, Ephie's muff
lying forgotten on a chair, the landlady's inquisitive face peering in
at the door. The laugh continued, though it had become a kind of
cackle--a sound without tone. Maurice could bear it no longer. He went
up to her and tried to take her hands. She repulsed him, but he was too
strong for her. He took both her hands in his, and pressed her down on
a chair. He was not clear himself what to do next; but, the moment he
touched her, the laughter ceased. She gasped for breath; he thought she
would choke, and let her hands go again. She pressed them to her
throat; her breath came more and more quickly; her eyes closed; and
falling forward on her knees, she hid her face in the cushioned seat of
the sofa.

Then the tears came, and what tears! In all his life, Maurice had never
heard crying like this. He moved as far away from her as he could,
stood at the window, staring out and biting his lips, while she sobbed,
regardless of his presence, with the utter abandon of a child. Like a
child, too, she wept rebelliously, unchastenedly, as he could not have
believed it possible for a grown person to cry. Such grief as this, so
absolute a despair, had nothing to do with reason or the reasoning
faculties; and the words were not invented that would be able to soothe
it.

But, little by little, a change came over her crying. The rebellion
died out of it; it grew duller, and more blunted, hopeless, without
life. Her strength was almost gone. Now, however, there was ano