Then in shame she hid her face in the quilt at his side and, weak with the exhaustion of her long anguish and fasting and watching, she wept the first tears — tears of hope she was not strong enough to bear. As she thus knelt, weeping softly, his fluttering eyelids lifted and he saw her there, and felt the quivering hand beneath his head.

Not understanding how or why this should be, he waited perfectly still, trying to gather his thoughts. A great peace was in his heart — a peace and content so sweet he did not wish to move. Lingering beneath this content, he held a dim memory of a great anger — a horror of anger, when he saw red, and hungered for blood. Vaguely it seemed to him now that all was as he wished it to be with Cassandra near. He liked to feel her hand beneath his head and her other hand upon