efore her there, she could have stood
beside it, and declared herself consoled by the immortal presence of his
spirit. But to attend this deathbed of her belief and of her love, love
that had already given itself over, too weak to struggle against
dissolution, it was as if she had seen some horrible reversal of the
law of death, spirit returning to earth, the incorruptible putting on
corruption.

Not only was her house of life made desolate; it was defiled. Dumb and
ashamed, she abandoned herself like a child to the arms of God, too
agonised to pray.

An hour passed.

Then slowly, as she knelt, the religious instinct regained possession of
her. It was as if her soul had been flung adrift, had gone out with the
ebb of the spiritual sea, and now rocked, poised, waiting for the turn of
the immortal tide.

Her lips parted, almost mechanically, in the utterance of the divine
name. Aware of that first motion of her soul, she gathered herself
together, and concentrated her will upon some familiar prayer for
guidance. For a little while she prayed thus, grasping at old shadowy
forms of petition as they went by her, lifting her sunken mind by main
force from stupefaction; and then, it was as if the urging, steadying
will withdrew, and her soul, at some heavenly signal, moved on alone into
the place of peace.

CHAPTER II

It was broad daylight outside. A man was putting out the lights one by
one along the cold little grey parade. A figure, walking slowly, with
down-bent head, was approaching the hotel from the pier. Anne recognised
it as that of her husband. Both sights reminded her that her life had to
be begun all over again, and to go on.

Another hour passed. Majendie had sent up a waitress with breakfast to
her room. He was always thoughtful for her comfort. It did not occur to
her to wonder what significance there might be in his thus keeping away
from her, or what attitude toward her he would now be inclined to take.
She would not have admitted that he had a right to any attitude at all.
It was for her, as the profoundly injured person, to decide as to the new
disposal of their relations.

She was very clear about her grievance. The facts, that her husband had
been pointed at in the public drawing-room of their hotel; that the
terrible statement she had overheard had been made and received casually;
that he had assumed, no less casually, her knowledge of the thing, all
bore but one interpretation: that W