ice, he was lured from his absorption and made
to laugh, really forgetting, really amused, his laughter hurt her. She
gazed at the stage with wide, vacant eyes. He felt the strain of being
in town with this desperate devotion beside him worse than the strain of
being shut up with it in the country; for there Kitty need hide and
repress nothing, and his danger of hurting her by forgetfulness was not
so great. He was like a prisoner led about by his gaoler, manacles on
his wrists and ankles and a yoke on his neck; there was a certain relief
in going back to prison where, at all events, one wasn't so tormented by
the sights and sounds of freedom, nor so conscious of chains and the
watchful eye upon one.

"This is the end," he thought, as, in the train, they sat side by side,
holding hands and very silent, but that, from time to time, when their
eyes met, she would smile her doting, hungry smile and murmur:
"Darling."

After this, the prison again; the high walls and stifling sweetness of
Paradise, and then, thank goodness, release.

How strange a contrast to the journey a month ago, when, stunned, shot
through, he had only felt the bliss of home-coming, the longing for the
nest. It was all nest now; there was no space for the fear of death. He
was shut in, smothered by this panting breast of love.

CHAPTER IV

He knew that evening that Kitty was horribly frightened from the fact
that she was horribly careful. She did not once press for assurances or
demonstrations of love. She foresaw all his needs, even his need of
silence. Delicately assiduous, she pulled his chair near the lamp for
him, lit his cigar, cut the pages of his review, even brought a
footstool for his feet, saying, when he protested, "You are tired,
darling; you must let me wait on you."

"And won't you read, or sew,--or do something, dear?" he asked, as she
drew her low chair near his.

"I only want to sit here quietly, and look at your dear face," she said.

And she sat there, quietly, not moving, not speaking, only mutely,
gently, fiercely watching him. Holland felt his hand tremble as he
turned the pages.

A full hour passed so. Accurately, punctually, he turned the pages; he
had not understood one page; and he had not once looked up.

It was almost a sense of nightmare that grew upon him, as if he were
going to sit there for ever, hearing the clock tick, hearing Kitty
breathe, knowing that he was watched. Fear, pity, and repulsion fil