The Glimpses of the Moon

by Edith Wharton

  XXIX

  THE inhabitants of the little house in Passy were of necessity earlyrisers; but when Susy jumped out of bed the next morning no one elsewas astir, and it lacked nearly an hour of the call of the bonne'salarm-clock.

  For a moment Susy leaned out of her dark room into the darker night.A cold drizzle fell on her face, and she shivered and drew back. Then,lighting a candle, and shading it, as her habit was, from the sleepingchild, she slipped on her dressing-gown and opened the door. On thethreshold she paused to look at her watch. Only half-past five! Shethought with compunction of the unkindness of breaking in on JunieFulmer's slumbers; but such scruples did not weigh an ounce in thebalance of her purpose. Poor Junie would have to oversleep herself onSunday, that was all.

  Susy stole into the passage, opened a door, and cast her light on thegirl's face.

  "Junie! Dearest Junie, you must wake up!"

  Junie lay in the abandonment of youthful sleep; but at the sound of hername she sat up with the promptness of a grown person on whom domesticburdens have long weighed.

  "Which one of them is it?" she asked, one foot already out of bed.

  "Oh, Junie dear, no... it's nothing wrong with the children... or withanybody," Susy stammered, on her knees by the bed.

  In the candlelight, she saw Junie's anxious brow darken reproachfully.

  "Oh, Susy, then why--? I was just dreaming we were all driving aboutRome in a great big motor-car with father and mother!"

  "I'm so sorry, dear. What a lovely dream! I'm a brute to haveinterrupted it--"

  She felt the little girl's awakening scrutiny. "If there's nothing wrongwith anybody, why are you crying, Susy? Is it you there's somethingwrong with? What has happened?"

  "Am I crying?" Susy rose from her knees and sat down on the counterpane."Yes, it is me. And I had to disturb you."

  "Oh, Susy, darling, what is it?" Junie's arms were about her in a flash,and Susy grasped them in burning fingers.

  "Junie, listen! I've got to go away at once--to leave you all for thewhole day. I may not be back till late this evening; late to-night; Ican't tell. I promised your mother I'd never leave you; but I've gotto--I've got to."

  Junie considered her agitated face with fully awakened eyes. "Oh, Iwon't tell, you know, you old brick," she said with simplicity.

  Susy hugged her. "Junie, Junie, you darling! But that wasn't what Imeant. Of course you may tell--you must tell. I shall write toyour mother myself. But what worries me is the idea of having to goaway--away from Paris--for the whole day, with Geordie still coughing alittle, and no one but that silly Angele to stay with him while you'reout--and no one but you to take yourself and the others to school. ButJunie, Junie, I've got to do it!" she sobbed out, clutching the childtighter.

  Junie Fulmer, with her strangely mature perception of the case, andseemingly of every case that fate might call on her to deal with, satfor a moment motionless in Susy's hold. Then she freed her wrists withan adroit twist, and leaning back against the pillows said judiciously:"You'll never in the world bring up a family of your own if you take onlike this over other people's children."

  Through all her turmoil of spirit the observation drew a laugh fromSusy. "Oh, a family of my own--I don't deserve one, the way I'm behavingto your--"

  Junie still considered her. "My dear, a change will do you good: youneed it," she pronounced.

  Susy rose with a laughing sigh. "I'm not at all sure it will! But I'vegot to have it, all the same. Only I do feel anxious--and I can't evenleave you my address!"

  Junie still seemed to examine the case.

  "Can't you even tell me where you're going?" she ventured, as if notquite sure of the delicacy of asking.

  "Well--no, I don't think I can; not till I get back. Besides, even ifI could it wouldn't be much use, because I couldn't give you my addressthere. I don't know what it will be."

  "But what does it matter, if you're coming back to-night?"

  "Of course I'm coming back! How could you possibly imagine I shouldthink of leaving you for more than a day?"

  "Oh, I shouldn't be afraid--not much, that is, with the poker, and Nat'swater-pistol," emended Junie, still judicious.

  Susy again enfolded her vehemently, and then turned to more practicalmatters. She explained that she wished if possible to catch aneight-thirty train from the Gare de Lyon, and that there was not amoment to lose if the children were to be dressed and fed, and fullinstructions written out for Junie and Angele, before she rushed for theunderground.

  While she bathed Geordie, and then hurried into her own clothes, shecould not help wondering at her own extreme solicitude for her charges.She remembered, with a pang, how often she had deserted ClarissaVanderlyn for the whole day, and even for two or three insuccession--poor little Clarissa, whom she knew to be so unprotected,so exposed to evil influences. She had been too much absorbed in her owngreedy bliss to be more than intermittently aware of the child; but now,she felt, no sorrow however ravaging, no happiness however absorbing,would ever again isolate her from her kind.

  And then these children were so different! The exquisite Clarissa wasalready the predestined victim of her surroundings: her budding soulwas divided from Susy's by the same barrier of incomprehension thatseparated the latter from Mrs. Vanderlyn. Clarissa had nothing toteach Susy but the horror of her own hard little appetites; whereas thecompany of the noisy argumentative Fulmers had been a school of wisdomand abnegation.

  As she applied the brush to Geordie's shining head and the handkerchiefto his snuffling nose, the sense of what she owed him was so borne in onSusy that she interrupted the process to catch him to her bosom.

  "I'll have such a story to tell you when I get back to-night, if you'llpromise me to be good all day," she bargained with him; and Geordie,always astute, bargained back: "Before I promise, I'd like to know whatstory."

  At length all was in order. Junie had been enlightened, and Angelestunned, by the minuteness of Susy's instructions; and the latter,waterproofed and stoutly shod, descended the doorstep, and paused towave at the pyramid of heads yearning to her from an upper window.

  It was hardly light, and still raining, when she turned into the dismalstreet. As usual, it was empty; but at the corner she perceived ahesitating taxi, with luggage piled beside the driver. Perhaps it wassome early traveller, just arriving, who would release the carriage intime for her to catch it, and thus avoid the walk to the metro, and thesubsequent strap-hanging; for it was the work-people's hour. Susy racedtoward the vehicle, which, overcoming its hesitation, was beginning tomove in her direction. Observing this, she stopped to see where itwould discharge its load. Thereupon the taxi stopped also, and the loaddischarged itself in front of her in the shape of Nick Lansing.

  The two stood staring at each other through the rain till Nick brokeout: "Where are you going? I came to get you."

  "To get me? To get me?" she repeated. Beside the driver she had suddenlyremarked the old suit-case from which her husband had obliged her toextract Strefford's cigars as they were leaving Como; and everythingthat had happened since seemed to fall away and vanish in the pang andrapture of that memory.

  "To get you; yes. Of course." He spoke the words peremptorily, almost asif they were an order. "Where were you going?" he repeated.

  Without answering, she turned toward the house. He followed her, and theladen taxi closed the procession.

  "Why are you out in such weather without an umbrella?" he continued, inthe same severe tone, drawing her under the shelter of his.

  "Oh, because Junie's umbrella is in tatters, and I had to leave hermine, as I was going away for the whole day." She spoke the words like aperson in a trance.

  "For the whole day? At this hour? Where?"

  They were on the doorstep, and she fumbled automatically for her key,let herself in, and led the way to the sitting-room. It had not beentidied up since the night before. The children's school books layscattered on the table and sofa, and the empty fireplace was grey withashes. She tur
ned to Nick in the pallid light.

  "I was going to see you," she stammered, "I was going to follow you toFontainebleau, if necessary, to tell you... to prevent you...."

  He repeated in the same aggressive tone: "Tell me what? Prevent what?"

  "Tell you that there must be some other way... some decent way... of ourseparating... without that horror, that horror of your going off with awoman...."

  He stared, and then burst into a laugh. The blood rushed to her face.She had caught a familiar ring in his laugh, and it wounded her. Whatbusiness had he, at such a time, to laugh in the old way?

  "I'm sorry; but there is no other way, I'm afraid. No other way butone," he corrected himself.

  She raised her head sharply. "Well?"

  "That you should be the woman.--Oh, my dear!" He had dropped his mockingsmile, and was at her side, her hands in his. "Oh, my dear, don't yousee that we've both been feeling the same thing, and at the same hour?You lay awake thinking of it all night, didn't you? So did I. Wheneverthe clock struck, I said to myself: 'She's hearing it too.' And I was upbefore daylight, and packed my traps--for I never want to set foot againin that awful hotel where I've lived in hell for the last three days.And I swore to myself that I'd go off with a woman by the first train Icould catch--and so I mean to, my dear."

  She stood before him numb. Yes, numb: that was the worst of it! Theviolence of the reaction had been too great, and she could hardlyunderstand what he was saying. Instead, she noticed that the tassel ofthe window-blind was torn off again (oh, those children!), and vaguelywondered if his luggage were safe on the waiting taxi. One heard suchstories....

  His voice came back to her. "Susy! Listen!" he was entreating. "Youmust see yourself that it can't be. We're married--isn't that all thatmatters? Oh, I know--I've behaved like a brute: a cursed arrogant ass!You couldn't wish that ass a worse kicking than I've given him! Butthat's not the point, you see. The point is that we're married....Married.... Doesn't it mean something to you, something--inexorable? Itdoes to me. I didn't dream it would--in just that way. But all I can sayis that I suppose the people who don't feel it aren't really married-andthey'd better separate; much better. As for us--"

  Through her tears she gasped out: "That's what I felt... that's what Isaid to Streff...."

  He was upon her with a great embrace. "My darling! My darling! You havetold him?"

  "Yes," she panted. "That's why I'm living here." She paused. "And you'vetold Coral?"

  She felt his embrace relax. He drew away a little, still holding her,but with lowered head.

  "No... I... haven't."

  "Oh, Nick! But then--?"

  He caught her to him again, resentfully. "Well--then what? What do youmean? What earthly difference does it make?"

  "But if you've told her you were going to marry her--" (Try as shewould, her voice was full of silver chimes.)

  "Marry her? Marry her?" he echoed. "But how could I? What does marriagemean anyhow? If it means anything at all it means--you! And I can't askCoral Hicks just to come and live with me, can I?"

  Between crying and laughing she lay on his breast, and his hand passedover her hair.

  They were silent for a while; then he began again: "You said it yourselfyesterday, you know."

  She strayed back from sunlit distances. "Yesterday?"

  "Yes: that Grace Fulmer says you can't separate two people who've beenthrough a lot of things--"

  "Ah, been through them together--it's not the things, you see, it's thetogetherness," she interrupted.

  "The togetherness--that's it!" He seized on the word as if it had justbeen coined to express their case, and his mind could rest in it withoutfarther labour.

  The door-bell rang, and they started. Through the window they saw thetaxi-driver gesticulating enquiries as to the fate of the luggage.

  "He wants to know if he's to leave it here," Susy laughed.

  "No--no! You're to come with me," her husband declared.

  "Come with you?" She laughed again at the absurdity of the suggestion.

  "Of course: this very instant. What did you suppose? That I was goingaway without you? Run up and pack your things," he commanded.

  "My things? My things? But I can't leave the children!"

  He stared, between indignation and amusement. "Can't leave the children?Nonsense! Why, you said yourself you were going to follow me toFontainebleau--"

  She reddened again, this time a little painfully "I didn't know whatI was doing.... I had to find you... but I should have come back thisevening, no matter what happened."

  "No matter what?"

  She nodded, and met his gaze resolutely.

  "No; but really--"

  "Really, I can't leave the children till Nat and Grace come back. Ipromised I wouldn't."

  "Yes; but you didn't know then.... Why on earth can't their nurse lookafter them?"

  "There isn't any nurse but me."

  "Good Lord!"

  "But it's only for two weeks more," she pleaded. "Two weeks! Do you knowhow long I've been without you!" He seized her by both wrists, and drewthem against his breast. "Come with me at least for two days--Susy!" heentreated her.

  "Oh," she cried, "that's the very first time you've said my name!"

  "Susy, Susy, then--my Susy--Susy! And you've only said mine once, youknow."

  "Nick!" she sighed, at peace, as if the one syllable were a magic seedthat hung out great branches to envelop them.

  "Well, then, Susy, be reasonable. Come!"

  "Reasonable--oh, reasonable!" she sobbed through laughter.

  "Unreasonable, then! That's even better."

  She freed herself, and drew back gently. "Nick, I swore I wouldn't leavethem; and I can't. It's not only my promise to their mother--it's whatthey've been to me themselves. You don't, know... You can't imaginethe things they've taught me. They're awfully naughty at times, becausethey're so clever; but when they're good they're the wisest people Iknow." She paused, and a sudden inspiration illuminated her. "But whyshouldn't we take them with us?" she exclaimed.

  Her husband's arms fell away from her, and he stood dumfounded.

  "Take them with us?"

  "Why not?"

  "All five of them?"

  "Of course--I couldn't possibly separate them. And Junie and Nat willhelp us to look after the young ones."

  "Help us!" he groaned.

  "Oh, you'll see; they won't bother you. Just leave it to me; I'llmanage--" The word stopped her short, and an agony of crimson suffusedher from brow to throat. Their eyes met; and without a word he stoopedand laid his lips gently on the stain of red on her neck.

  "Nick," she breathed, her hands in his.

  "But those children--"

  Instead of answering, she questioned: "Where are we going?"

  His face lit up.

  "Anywhere, dearest, that you choose."

  "Well--I choose Fontainebleau!" she exulted.

  "So do I! But we can't take all those children to an hotel atFontainebleau, can we?" he questioned weakly. "You see, dear, there'sthe mere expense of it--"

  Her eyes were already travelling far ahead of him. "The expense won'tamount to much. I've just remembered that Angele, the bonne, has asister who is cook there in a nice old-fashioned pension which must bealmost empty at this time of year. I'm sure I can ma--arrange easily,"she hurried on, nearly tripping again over the fatal word. "And justthink of the treat it will be to them! This is Friday, and I can getthem let off from their afternoon classes, and keep them in the countrytill Monday. Poor darlings, they haven't been out of Paris for months!And I daresay the change will cure Geordie's cough--Geordie's theyoungest," she explained, surprised to find herself, even in the raptureof reunion, so absorbed in the welfare of the Fulmers.

  She was conscious that her husband was surprised also; but instead ofprolonging the argument he simply questioned: "Was Geordie the chap youhad in your arms when you opened the front door the night before last?"

  She echoed: "I opened the fr
ont door the night before last?"

  "To a boy with a parcel."

  "Oh," she sobbed, "you were there? You were watching?"

  He held her to him, and the currents flowed between them warm and fullas on the night of their moon over Como.

  In a trice, after that, she had the matter in hand and her forcesmarshalled. The taxi was paid, Nick's luggage deposited in thevestibule, and the children, just piling down to breakfast, weresummoned in to hear the news.

  It was apparent that, seasoned to surprises as they were, Nick'spresence took them aback. But when, between laughter and embraces, hisidentity, and his right to be where he was, had been made clear to them,Junie dismissed the matter by asking him in her practical way: "ThenI suppose we may talk about you to Susy now?"--and thereafter all fiveaddressed themselves to the vision of their imminent holiday.

  From that moment the little house became the centre of a whirlwind.Treats so unforeseen, and of such magnitude, were rare in the youngFulmers' experience, and had it not been for Junie's steadying influenceSusy's charges would have got out of hand. But young Nat, appealed toby Nick on the ground of their common manhood, was induced to foregocelebrating the event on his motor horn (the very same which hadtortured the New Hampshire echoes), and to assert his authority overhis juniors; and finally a plan began to emerge from the chaos, and eachchild to fit into it like a bit of a picture puzzle.

  Susy, riding the whirlwind with her usual firmness, nevertheless felt anundercurrent of anxiety. There had been no time as yet, between her andNick, to revert to money matters; and where there was so little moneyit could not, obviously, much matter. But that was the more reason forbeing secretly aghast at her intrepid resolve not to separate herselffrom her charges. A three days' honey-moon with five children in theparty-and children with the Fulmer appetite--could not but be a costlybusiness; and while she settled details, packed them off to school, androuted out such nondescript receptacles as the house contained in theway of luggage, her thoughts remained fixed on the familiar financialproblem.

  Yes--it was cruel to have it rear its hated head, even through thebursting boughs of her new spring; but there it was, the perpetualserpent in her Eden, to be bribed, fed, sent to sleep with such scrapsas she could beg, borrow or steal for it. And she supposed it was theprice that fate meant her to pay for her blessedness, and was surer thanever that the blessedness was worth it. Only, how was she to compoundthe business with her new principles?

  With the children's things to pack, luncheon to be got ready, and theFontainebleau pension to be telephoned to, there was little time towaste on moral casuistry; and Susy asked herself with a certain ironyif the chronic lack of time to deal with money difficulties had not beenthe chief cause of her previous lapses. There was no time to deal withthis question either; no time, in short, to do anything but rush forwardon a great gale of plans and preparations, in the course of which shewhirled Nick forth to buy some charcuterie for luncheon, and telephoneto Fontainebleau.

  Once he was gone--and after watching him safely round the corner--shetoo got into her wraps, and transferring a small packet from herdressing-case to her pocket, hastened out in a different direction.

  XXX

  IT took two brimming taxi-cabs to carry the Nicholas Lansings to thestation on their second honey-moon. In the first were Nick, Susy and theluggage of the whole party (little Nat's motor horn included, as a lastconcession, and because he had hitherto forborne to play on it); and inthe second, the five Fulmers, the bonne, who at the eleventh hour hadrefused to be left, a cage-full of canaries, and a foundling kitten whohad murderous designs on them; all of which had to be taken because, ifthe bonne came, there would be nobody left to look after them.

  At the corner Susy tore herself from Nick's arms and held up theprocession while she ran back to the second taxi to make sure that thebonne had brought the house-key. It was found of course that she hadn'tbut that Junie had; whereupon the caravan got under way again, andreached the station just as the train was starting; and there, by somemiracle of good nature on the part of the guard, they were all packedtogether into an empty compartment--no doubt, as Susy remarked, becausetrain officials never failed to spot a newly-married couple, and treatthem kindly.

  The children, sentinelled by Junie, at first gave promise of superhumangoodness; but presently their feelings overflowed, and they were not tobe quieted till it had been agreed that Nat should blow his motor-hornat each halt, while the twins called out the names of the stations, andGeordie, with the canaries and kitten, affected to change trains.

  Luckily the halts were few; but the excitement of travel, combinedwith over-indulgence in the chocolates imprudently provided by Nick,overwhelmed Geordie with a sudden melancholy that could be appeased onlyby Susy's telling him stories till they arrived at Fontainebleau.

  The day was soft, with mild gleams of sunlight on decaying foliage;and after luggage and livestock had been dropped at the pension Susyconfessed that she had promised the children a scamper in the forest,and buns in a tea-shop afterward. Nick placidly agreed, and darknesshad long fallen, and a great many buns been consumed, when at lengththe procession turned down the street toward the pension, headed by Nickwith the sleeping Geordie on his shoulder, while the others, speechlesswith fatigue and food, hung heavily on Susy.

  It had been decided that, as the bonne was of the party, the childrenmight be entrusted to her for the night, and Nick and Susy establishthemselves in an adjacent hotel. Nick had flattered himself thatthey might remove their possessions there when they returned from thetea-room; but Susy, manifestly surprised at the idea, reminded himthat her charges must first be given their supper and put to bed. Shesuggested that he should meanwhile take the bags to the hotel, andpromised to join him as soon as Geordie was asleep.

  She was a long time coming, but waiting for her was sweet, even in adeserted hotel reading-room insufficiently heated by a sulky stove; andafter he had glanced through his morning's mail, hurriedly thrust intohis pocket as he left Paris, he sank into a state of drowsy beatitude.It was all the maddest business in the world, yet it did not give himthe sense of unreality that had made their first adventure a mere goldendream; and he sat and waited with the security of one in whom dearhabits have struck deep roots. In this mood of acquiescence even thepresence of the five Fulmers seemed a natural and necessary consequenceof all the rest; and when Susy at length appeared, a little pale andtired, with the brooding inward look that busy mothers bring from thenursery, that too seemed natural and necessary, and part of the neworder of things.

  They had wandered out to a cheap restaurant for dinner; now, in the dampDecember night, they were walking back to the hotel under a sky full ofrain-clouds. They seemed to have said everything to each other, and yetbarely to have begun what they had to tell; and at each step they took,their heavy feet dragged a great load of bliss.

  In the hotel almost all the lights were already out; and they gropedtheir way to the third floor room which was the only one that Susyhad found cheap enough. A ray from a street-lamp struck up through theunshuttered windows; and after Nick had revived the fire they drew theirchairs close to it, and sat quietly for a while in the dark.

  Their silence was so sweet that Nick could not make up his mind to breakit; not to do so gave his tossing spirit such a sense of permanence, ofhaving at last unlimited time before him in which to taste his joy andlet its sweetness stream through him. But at length he roused himself tosay: "It's queer how things coincide. I've had a little bit of good newsin one of the letters I got this morning."

  Susy took the announcement serenely. "Well, you would, you know," shecommented, as if the day had been too obviously designed for bliss toescape the notice of its dispensers.

  "Yes," he continued with a thrill of pardonable pride. "During thecruise I did a couple of articles on Crete--oh, just travel-impressions,of course; they couldn't be more. But the editor of the New Reviewhas accepted them, and asks for others. And here's his cheque, if youplease! So you se
e you might have let me take the jolly room downstairswith the pink curtains. And it makes me awfully hopeful about my book."

  He had expected a rapturous outburst, and perhaps some reassertionof wifely faith in the glorious future that awaited The Pageant ofAlexander; and deep down under the lover's well-being the author felt afaint twinge of mortified vanity when Susy, leaping to her feet, criedout, ravenously and without preamble: "Oh, Nick, Nick--let me see howmuch they've given you!"

  He flourished the cheque before her in the firelight. "A couple ofhundred, you mercenary wretch!"

  "Oh, oh--" she gasped, as if the good news had been almost too much forher tense nerves; and then surprised him by dropping to the ground, andburying her face against his knees.

  "Susy, my Susy," he whispered, his hand on her shaking shoulder. "Why,dear, what is it? You're not crying?"

  "Oh, Nick, Nick--two hundred? Two hundred dollars? Then I've got to tellyou--oh now, at once!"

  A faint chill ran over him, and involuntarily his hand drew back fromher bowed figure.

  "Now? Oh, why now?" he protested. "What on earth does it matternow--whatever it is?"

  "But it does matter--it matters more than you can think!"

  She straightened herself, still kneeling before him, and lifted her headso that the firelight behind her turned her hair into a ruddy halo. "Oh,Nick, the bracelet--Ellie's bracelet.... I've never returned it to her,"she faltered out.

  He felt himself recoiling under the hands with which she clutched hisknees. For an instant he did not remember what she alluded to; it wasthe mere mention of Ellie Vanderlyn's name that had fallen between themlike an icy shadow. What an incorrigible fool he had been to think theycould ever shake off such memories, or cease to be the slaves of such apast!

  "The bracelet?--Oh, yes," he said, suddenly understanding, and feelingthe chill mount slowly to his lips.

  "Yes, the bracelet... Oh, Nick, I meant to give it back at once; Idid--I did; but the day you went away I forgot everything else. And whenI found the thing, in the bottom of my bag, weeks afterward, I thoughteverything was over between you and me, and I had begun to see Ellieagain, and she was kind to me and how could I?" To save his life hecould have found no answer, and she pressed on: "And so this morning,when I saw you were frightened by the expense of bringing all thechildren with us, and when I felt I couldn't leave them, and couldn'tleave you either, I remembered the bracelet; and I sent you off totelephone while I rushed round the corner to a little jeweller's whereI'd been before, and pawned it so that you shouldn't have to pay for thechildren.... But now, darling, you see, if you've got all that money, Ican get it out of pawn at once, can't I, and send it back to her?"

  She flung her arms about him, and he held her fast, wondering if thetears he felt were hers or his. Still he did not speak; but as heclasped her close she added, with an irrepressible flash of her oldirony: "Not that Ellie will understand why I've done it. She's never yetbeen able to make out why you returned her scarf-pin."

  For a long time she continued to lean against him, her head on hisknees, as she had done on the terrace of Como on the last night of theirhoneymoon. She had ceased to talk, and he sat silent also, passinghis hand quietly to and fro over her hair. The first rapture had beensucceeded by soberer feelings. Her confession had broken up the frozenpride about his heart, and humbled him to the earth; but it had alsoroused forgotten things, memories and scruples swept aside in the firstrush of their reunion. He and she belonged to each other for always:he understood that now. The impulse which had first drawn themtogether again, in spite of reason, in spite of themselves almost, thatdeep-seated instinctive need that each had of the other, would neveragain wholly let them go. Yet as he sat there he thought of Strefford,he thought of Coral Hicks. He had been a coward in regard to Coral, andSusy had been sincere and courageous in regard to Strefford. Yet hismind dwelt on Coral with tenderness, with compunction, with remorse; andhe was almost sure that Susy had already put Strefford utterly out ofher mind.

  It was the old contrast between the two ways of loving, the man's wayand the woman's; and after a moment it seemed to Nick natural enoughthat Susy, from the very moment of finding him again, should feelneither pity nor regret, and that Strefford should already be to heras if he had never been. After all, there was something Providential insuch arrangements.

  He stooped closer, pressed her dreaming head between his hands, andwhispered: "Wake up; it's bedtime."

  She rose; but as she moved away to turn on the light he caught her handand drew her to the window. They leaned on the sill in the darkness,and through the clouds, from which a few drops were already falling,the moon, labouring upward, swam into a space of sky, cast her troubledglory on them, and was again hidden.