ark already in the hall behind
him. What a life these English lived--worse than the winter in his old
country home in Sweden, where, at all events, they kept good fires. And,
suddenly, all his being revolted. Stay here and face that father--and
that image of a servant! Stay here for a night of this! Gyp was not
his Gyp, lying there with that baby beside her, in this hostile house.
Smothering his footsteps, he made for the outer hall. There were his
coat and hat. He put them on. His bag? He could not see it. No matter!
They could send it after him. He would write to her--say that her
fainting had upset him--that he could not risk making her faint
again--could not stay in the house so near her, yet so far. She would
understand. And there came over him a sudden wave of longing. Gyp! He
wanted her. To be with her! To look at her and kiss her, and feel her
his own again! And, opening the door, he passed out on to the drive and
strode away, miserable and sick at heart. All the way to the station
through the darkening lanes, and in the railway carriage going up, he
felt that aching wretchedness. Only in the lighted street, driving back
to Rosek's, did he shake it off a little. At dinner and after, drinking
that special brandy he nearly lost it; but it came back when he went to
bed, till sleep relieved him with its darkness and dreams.

XII

Gyp's recovery proceeded at first with a sure rapidity which delighted
Winton. As the economic agent pointed out, she was beautifully made, and
that had a lot to do with it!

Before Christmas Day, she was already out, and on Christmas morning the
old doctor, by way of present, pronounced her fit and ready to go home
when she liked. That afternoon, she was not so well, and next day
back again upstairs. Nothing seemed definitely wrong, only a sort of
desperate lassitude; as if the knowledge that to go back was within her
power, only needing her decision, had been too much for her. And since
no one knew her inward feelings, all were puzzled except Winton. The
nursing of her child was promptly stopped.

It was not till the middle of January that she said to him.

"I must go home, Dad."

The word "home" hurt him, and he only answered:

"Very well, Gyp; when?"

"The house is quite ready. I think I had better go to-morrow. He's still
at Rosek's. I won't let him know. Two or three days there by myself
first would be better for settling baby in."

"Very well; I'll take you up."

He