Aaron was already stirring. She heard his light footsteps in the room above. She shut her eyes again and tried to sleep, but she could not. A feeling of desolation enveloped her. For the first time she realized the utter hopelessness of their love, seeing the situation objectively, as Lewis had done from the beginning.

'We are now fated forever to travel on different trails,' he had said. It was the simple truth. She knew it, and yet—• He was only a mile away from her; they might still see each other, as they would this evening. Somehow they would arrange to have a few more of those ecstatic hours alone together. And that was all she asked, she thought passionately, just to hear his voice for a little longer, to have him kiss her gently, and smile for her his rare slow smile.

Deep within her heart, she knew she lied. That was not all she wanted. Her awakened body ached for him. Her lips whispered his name with a longing that frightened her. Turning on the bed, she buried her face in her arms.

All day the rain stabbed down like silver knives, cutting at the roads until it had reduced them to a pulp of yellow mud. It was damp and cold. The baby was cross, and wailed dismally, resisting all Eleanore's and Theo's efforts to amuse him. The monotonous cries resounded everywhere through the jerry-built house; one of the many which had been run up anyhow for temporary occupancy and never properly finished.

Aaron supported the racket with his usual good-humor, finally going out into the pelting rain to scour the town for toys.

By noon Theo was exhausted. 'Darling, won't you please stop yelling?' she implored the red-faced infant. 'Could there be anything really wrong?' she asked Eleanore anxiously, as they hung over the cradle. She felt a ghastly clutch of fear. This was the critical 'second summer,' and so many things could be wrong: fevers and fluxes and convulsions.

The maid put a square knowing hand on the child's forehead. 'He's all right, Madame. It's the weather, and the little tooth that is coming. C'est tout'. Her brisk positiveness was balm.

Theo turned wearily. Her head ached. The day was interminable. Matters were not improved by the receipt of a letter from Joseph. She had no wish just now to think of Joseph, and this letter was unusually affectionate, even passionate, beneath its pompous and weighty verbiage. He missed her, it seemed, immoderately. And he had arranged his affairs sc as to join her up North 'very soon'. He thought that he might catch the next packet.