Greta pressed her hands together.

“Do you want the pictures badly, Chris?”

Christian nodded.

“Very badly?”

“Yes—­yes—­yes!”

Greta remained sitting where she was, shivering violently, as a little animal shivers when it scents danger.  At last she rose.

“I am going,” she said in a despairing voice.  At the doorway she turned.

“If Miss Naylor shall ask me where you are, Chris, I shall be telling her a story.”

Christian started.

“I forgot that—­O Greta, I am sorry!  I will go instead.”

Greta took another step—­a quick one.

“I shall die if I stay here alone,” she said; “I can tell her that you are in bed; you must go to bed here, Chris, so it shall be true after all.”

Christian threw her arms about her.

“I am so sorry, darling; I wish I could go instead.  But if you have to tell a lie, I would tell a straight one.”

“Would you?” said Greta doubtfully.

“Yes.”

“I think,” said Greta to herself, beginning to descend the stairs, “I think I will tell it in my way.”  She shuddered and went on groping in the darkness.

Christian listened for the sound of the screws.  It came slowly, threatening her with danger and solitude.

Sinking on her knees she began to work at freeing the canvas of a picture.  Her heart throbbed distressfully; at the stir of wind-breath or any distant note of clamour she stopped, and held her breathing.  No sounds came near.  She toiled on, trying only to think that she was at the very spot where last night his arms had been round her.  How long ago it seemed!  She was full of vague terror, overmastered by the darkness, dreadfully alone.  The new glow of resolution seemed suddenly to have died down in her heart, and left her cold.

She would never be fit to be his wife, if at the first test her courage failed!  She set her teeth; and suddenly she felt a kind of exultation, as if she too were entering into life, were knowing something within herself that she had never known before.  Her fingers hurt, and the pain even gave pleasure; her cheeks were burning; her breath came fast.  They could not stop her now!  This feverish task in darkness was her baptism into life.  She finished; and rolling the pictures very carefully, tied them with cord.  She had done something for him!  Nobody could take that from her!  She had a part of him!  This night had made him hers!  They might do their worst!  She lay down on his mattress and soon fell asleep....

She was awakened by Scruff’s tongue against her face.  Greta was standing by her side.

“Wake up, Chris!  The gate is open!”

In the cold early light the child seemed to glow with warmth and colour; her eyes were dancing.

“I am not afraid now; Scruff and I sat up all night, to catch the morning—­I—­think it was fun; and O Chris!” she ended with a rueful gleam in her eyes, “I told it.”