that there was no greater pleasure than in reading to Maud day by
day, in finding books that she cared for.

"If only I could spare you some of this," he said to her one day,
"that's the awful thing, not to be able to share the pain of anyone
whom one loves. I feel I could hold my hand in the fire with a smile,
if only I knew that it was saving you something!"

"Ah, dearest, I know," said Maud, "but you mustn't think of it like
that; it INTERESTS me in a curious way--I can't explain--I don't feel
helpless; I feel as if I were doing something worth the trouble!"

At last the time drew near; it was hot, silent, airless weather; the
sun lay fiercely in the little valley, day by day; one morning they
were sitting together and Maud suddenly said to him, "Dearest, one
thing I want to say; if I seem to be afraid, I am NOT afraid: will you
remember that? I want to walk every step of the way; I mean to do it, I
wish to do it; I am not afraid in my heart of hearts of anything--pain,
or even worse; and you must remember that, even if I do not seem to
remember!"

"Yes," said Howard, "I will remember that; and indeed I know it; you
even take away my own fears when you speak so; love takes hands beneath
it all."

But on the following morning--Maud had a restless and suffering
night--Mrs. Graves came in upon Howard as he tried to read, to tell him
that there was great anxiety, Maud had had a sudden attack of pain; it
had passed off, but they were not reassured. "The doctor will be here
presently," she said. Howard rose dry-lipped and haggard. "She sends
you her dearest love," she said, "but she would rather be alone; she
doesn't wish you to see her thus; she is absolutely brave, and that is
the best thing; and I am not afraid myself," she added: "we must just
wait--everything is in her favour; but I know how you feel and how you
must feel; just clasp the anxiety close, look in its face; it's a
blessed thing, though you can't see it as I do--blessed, I mean, that
one CAN feel so."

But the fear thickened after this. A carriage drew up, and Howard saw
two doctors descend, carrying bags in their hands. His heart sickened
within him, yet he was helped by seeing their unembarrassed and
cheerful air, the nod that one of them, a big, fresh-faced man, gave to
the coachman, the look he cast round the beautiful old house. People
could think of such things, Howard saw, in a moment like that. He went
down and met them in the hall, and had