And she, melting beneath the gentleness and tenderness of his caresses, wept in pity of herself.  “Yes, I’m tired—­dead-tired.”  And the tears flowed unchecked, blotting out emotion, reason, instinct, swamping her in floods of self-pity.  “Let me sleep—­and let me forget.  Oh, let me forget what I’ve gone through these last two days.”

“Anyways, it’s over now.”

“Yes, it’s over.  Oh, thank God in Heaven, it’s over and done with.”

“Just so.”  And there was a change in the tone of his voice that she might have noticed, but did not.  “Just so—­but you’re talking rather strange, come to think of it.”

His arms slowly relaxed, and he let her slide out of his embrace.  She sank down wearily upon the pillow, closed her eyes, and for a little while went on talking drowsily and inconsecutively.

“Shut up,” he said suddenly.  “Hold your tongue.  I’m thinking.”

Then almost immediately he turned, and, with his hands upon her shoulders, looked down into her face.

“Why didn’t you go to church yesterday?”

“What did you say, Will?”

“I said, why didn’t you go to church yesterday?”

“Oh—­I really didn’t care to go.”

“That wasn’t like you—­you so fond of the Abbey Church.  Did your Aunt go?”

“Yes.”

“You said this afternoon she didn’t go.”

“She did go.  I remember now.”

“Ah!  Another thing!  That actor-feller—­what d’yer call ’im—­him that you counted on and didn’t find—­Chugwun!”

“Yes.”

“You see the name in the paper?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t aarpen t’see it on the boards outside the theater?”

“No.”

She was wide awake and quite sober now.  But her limbs were trembling again, and her eyes seemed preposterously large as they stared up at him from the white face.  “Will!” And she spoke fast and piteously; “don’t look at me like this.  What’s come to you?  Why do you ask me such a pack of questions?” And she tried to laugh.  “At such a time of night!”

“Bide a bit, my lass.  I’m just thinking.”

Where had the thoughts come from?—­out of blank space?—­from nowhere?  Yet here they were, filling his head, multiplying, expanding, making his blood rattle like boiling water in a tube as it rushed up to nourish their monstrous growth.

“Will, let go my shoulders.  You hurt.  Get into the bed—­and be sensible.  I’ll answer all questions in the morning.”

“No, I think I’ll have the answers now.”

He went on questioning her, and his hands growing heavier crushed her shoulders so that she thought he would break the bones and joints.

“What train did you come up by this morning?”

“The nine o’clock.”

“What!  D’you mean you went right across from North Ride to Rodchurch Road?”

“Oh, no.  I caught it at Manninglea Cross.”

“Did you, then?  An’ s’pose I was to tell you the nine o’clock don’t stop at Manninglea Cross!”