kness, very slowly edging
forwards.

Suddenly the door opened. His wife emerged with a pail. He stepped
quietly aside, on to his side garden, among the sweet herbs. He could
smell rosemary and sage and hyssop. A low wall divided his garden from
his neighbour's. He put his hand on it, on its wetness, ready to drop
over should his wife come forward. But she only threw the contents of
her pail on the garden and retired again. She might have seen him had
she looked. He remained standing where he was, listening to the trickle
of rain in the water-butt. The hollow countryside lay beyond him.
Sometimes in the windy darkness he could see the red burn of New
Brunswick bank, or the brilliant jewels of light clustered at Bestwood
Colliery. Away in the dark hollow, nearer, the glare of the electric
power-station disturbed the night. So again the wind swirled the rain
across all these hieroglyphs of the countryside, familiar to him as his
own breast.

A motor-car was labouring up the hill. His trained ear attended to it
unconsciously. It stopped with a jar. There was a bang of the yard-gate.
A shortish dark figure in a bowler hat passed the window. Millicent was
drawing down the blind. It was the doctor. The blind was drawn, he could
see no more.

Stealthily he began to approach the house. He stood by the climbing rose
of the porch, listening. He heard voices upstairs. Perhaps the children
would be downstairs. He listened intently. Voices were upstairs only. He
quietly opened the door. The room was empty, save for the baby, who was
cooing in her cradle. He crossed to the hall. At the foot of the stairs
he could hear the voice of the Indian doctor: "Now little girl, you
must just keep still and warm in bed, and not cry for the moon." He said
"_de_ moon," just as ever.--Marjory must be ill.

So Aaron quietly entered the parlour. It was a cold, clammy room, dark.
He could hear footsteps passing outside on the asphalt pavement below
the window, and the wind howling with familiar cadence. He began feeling
for something in the darkness of the music-rack beside the piano. He
touched and felt--he could not find what he wanted. Perplexed, he turned
and looked out of the window. Through the iron railing of the front wall
he could see the little motorcar sending its straight beams of light in
front of it, up the street.

He sat down on the sofa by the window. The energy had suddenly left all
his limbs. He sat with his head sunk, listenin