he looked at her a cold
and subtle pang went through him, a curious abominable sensation, mingled
with a sort of spiritual pain. He dared not give a name to the one
feeling, but the other he easily recognized as self-reproach. He had
known it once or twice before.

He stooped over her and kissed her. "Why are you sitting up here and
crying, all by your little self?"

She shook her head.

"What are you crying about? You didn't suppose I was angry with you?"

"No. I wouldn't have cried if you had been angry. I'm not crying now.
I don't know why I cried at all. I'm tired, or cold, or something."

"Why don't you go to bed, then?"

"I'm going." She rose wearily and went to the dressing-table. He watched
her reflection in the looking-glass. As she raised her arms to take the
pins from her hair, her white face grew whiter, it was deadly white. He
went to her help, unpinning the black coils, smoothing them and plaiting
them in a loose braid. He did it in a business-like way, as if he had
been a hairdresser, he whose pulse used to beat faster if he so much as
touched her gown. Then he gave her a cold business-like kiss that left
her sadder than before. The fact was, he had thought she was going to
faint. But Mrs. Nevill Tyson was not of the fainting kind; she was only
tired, tired and sick.

It was arranged that Tyson was to leave by the two o'clock train the next
day. He was packing up his things about noon, when Molly staggered into
his dressing-room with her teeth chattering. Clinging to the rail of the
bedstead for support, she gazed at the preparations for his departure.

"I wish you wouldn't go away, Nevill," she said.

"It's all right, I'll be back in a day or two." He blushed at his own
lie.

Mrs. Nevill Tyson sat down on the bed and began to cry.

"What's the matter, Moll, eh?"

"I don't know, I don't know," she sobbed. "I'm afraid, Nevill--I'm so
terribly afraid."

"Why, what are you afraid of?" He looked up and was touched by the terror
in her face.

"I don't know. But I can bear it--I won't be silly and frightened--I can
bear it if you'll only stay."

She slid on to her knees beside him; and while she implored him to stay,
her hands worked unconsciously, helping him to go--smoothing and folding
his clothes, and laying them in little heaps about the floor, her figure
swaying unsteadily as she knelt.

He put his arm round her; he drew her head against his shoulder; and she
looked up into his face,