manner (well known among patients who have been taking themselves too seriously), and Rachel had understood and excused.  She would have been ready, indeed, to excuse for worse extravagances than any that could have occurred to the fancy of a nature so polite and benevolent as that of Louis; for, in order to atone for her silly school-girlishness, she had made a compact with herself to be an angel and a serpent simultaneously for the entire remainder of her married life.

Then Mrs. Tams had come in, from errands of marketing, with a copy of the early special of the Signal, containing a description of the accident.  Mrs. Tams had never before bought such a thing as a newspaper, but an acquaintance of hers who “stood the market” with tripe and chitterlings had told her that Mr. Fores was “in” the Signal, and accordingly she had bravely stopped a news-boy in the street and made the purchase.  To Rachel she pointed out the paragraph with pride, and to please her and divert Louis, Rachel had introduced the newspaper into the bedroom.  The item was headed:  “Runaway Horses in Bursley Market-place.  Providential Escape.”  It spoke of Mr. Louis Fores’ remarkable skill and presence of mind in swerving away with two bicycles.  It said that Mr. Louis Fores was an accomplished cyclist, and that after a severe shaking Mr. Louis Fores drove home in a taxicab “apparently little the worse, save for facial contusions, for his perilous adventure.”  Lastly, it said that a representative of the Midland Railway had “assured our representative that the horses were not the property of the Midland Railway.”  Louis had sardonically repeated the phrase “apparently little the worse,” murmuring it with his eyes shut.  He had said, “I wish they could see me.”  Still, he had made no further mention of sending for a solicitor.  He had taken a little food and a little drink.  He had asked Rachel when she meant to go to bed.  And at length Rachel, having first arranged food for use in the night, and fixed a sheet of note-paper on the gas-bracket as a screen between the gas and Louis, had undressed and got into bed, and gone off into a heavy slumber with a mind comparatively free.

In response to his confusing summons, she stumbled to her peignoir and slipped it on.

“Yes, dear?” she spoke softly.

“I couldn’t bear it any longer,” said the voice of Louis.  “I just had to waken you.”

She raised the gas, and her eyes blinked as she stared at him.  His bedclothes were horribly disarranged.

“Are you in pain?” she asked, smoothing the blankets.

“No.  But I’m so ill.  I—­I don’t want to frighten you—­”

“The doctor said you’d feel ill.  It’s the shock, you know.”

She stroked his hand.  He did indubitably look very ill.  His appearance of woe, despair, and dreadful apprehension was pitiable in the highest degree.  With a gesture of intense weariness he declined food, nor could she persuade him to take anything whatever.