cutive evenings the two passed an hour or more in this
silent communion. On the last the door of Louis' room stood open, the
young man had not come in, and for the first time they were really
alone. But the fact did not at once loosen Claude's tongue; and if the
girl noticed it, or expected aught to come of it, more than had come of
their companionship on other evenings, she hid her feelings with a
woman's ease. He remarked, however, that she was more thoughtful and
downcast than usual, and several times he saw her break off in the
middle of a task and listen nervously as for something she expected.
Presently:--

"Are you listening for Louis?" he asked.

She turned on him, her eyes less kind than usual. "No," she said, almost
defiantly. "Was I listening?"

"I thought so," he said.

She turned away again, and went on with her work. But by-and-by as she
stooped over the fire a tear fell and pattered audibly in the wood-ash
on the hearth; and another. With an impatient gesture she wiped away a
third. He saw all--she made no attempt to hide them--and he bit his lip
and drove his finger-ends into his palms in the effort to be silent.
Presently he had his reward.

"I am sorry," she said in a low tone. "I was listening, and I knew I
was. I do not know why I deceived you."

"Why will you not tell me all?" he cried.

"I cannot!" she answered, her breast heaving passionately. "I cannot!"
For the first time in his knowledge of her, she broke down completely,
and sinking on a bench with her back to the table she sobbed bitterly,
her face in her hands. For some minutes she rocked herself to and fro in
a paroxysm of trouble.

He had risen and stood watching her awkwardly, longing to comfort her,
but ignorant how to go about it, and feeling acutely his helplessness
and his _gaucherie_. Sad she had always been, and at her best
despondent, with gleams of cheerfulness as fitful as brief. But this
evening her abandonment to her grief convinced him that something more
than ordinary was amiss, that some danger more serious than ordinary
threatened. He felt no surprise therefore when, a little later, she
arrested her sobbing, raised her head, and with suspended breath and
tear-stained face listened with that scared intentness which had
impressed him before.

She feared! He could not be mistaken. Fear looked out of her strained
eyes, fear hung breathless on her parted lips. He was sure of it. And
"Is it Basterga?" he cried. "Is it