e felt to be Life. A feeling of aloneness, never
before experienced, took physical hold upon her, something that made
her ill, that chilled her.

Boris had spoken in his strangely altered voice of being happy and
dying. These words she had heard once before, at home among the currant
bushes, but there it had had a different sound, there it had sounded
sad and sultry and sweet; she had understood it there, and it seemed to
her to be something possible and easy, if Boris wished it. But to
die--here, that was incomprehensible and repulsive like everything else
here: for that was just the result of this terribly puzzling feeling of
loneliness which was icily creeping over her. She must lie here, and
life was infinitely far away; she saw it like a spot quite yellow with
sunshine, quite gay with autumn flowers, and familiar figures were
passing through this sunshine: before the wash-house knelt the
washwoman with her white apron, at the bed of carnations knelt the
gardener with his yellow straw hat, and under the pear-tree stood her
father, drawing the scent of the early pears and the plums into his
long white nose.

Billy saw this, felt it, smelt it, and yet all of it was living without
her: or rather, she herself was there, and she could see herself, also
her love was there, Boris, and everything, but she could not cross over
to join herself there. Billy raised herself, her eyes wide open, her
mouth very red against the white face, and about her lips the resolute,
obstinate lines which they were wont to assume when Billy felt that she
must have something for which she longed.

She climbed softly out of the bed, crept to the unclosed door and
peeped through the crack. Boris was lying asleep on the sofa. His
tangled hair hung down on his forehead, and his pale face wore the
grief-stricken and at the same time helpless expression with which
sound sleep overspreads a face. On the table stood the champagne bottle
and a half-emptied glass. The candle had burned very low, and the
only sound in the room was a faint moaning that issued from Boris's
half-open mouth, wailing and then changing to short, high-pitched, and
as it were mocking sounds. Billy cautiously pulled the door shut. Then
she bustled about, took her cloak and hat, went to the window, and
opened it. The draught put out the candle; outside it still seemed
dark, the rain was whispering in the gloom, the great pines were
rustling, a deep, loud rustle, a glorious untra