when violet awoke the next morning at the appointed time for waking, and heard the familiar muffled sounds of elsie's activity, she was tempted to stay in bed; she had not had a good night, and she felt quite disturbingly unwell; indeed, her physical sensations, although not those of acute pain, alarmed her by a certain fundamental quality involving the very basis of her vitality. but she resisted the temptation, apprehensive of the results, on herself and on the household organism, of any change of habit. the upset would be terrible if she failed in her daily r?le; henry would maintain his calm, but beneath the calm "what a state he would be in!" she knew him (she said to herself). "i shall be better on my feet, and i shall worry less." so she arose to the cold room and to the cold water. henry was quite bland and cheerful, and said that he had slept well. it was his custom to get up as soon as violet had washed. he did not get up.

"aren't you going to get up? i've finished here." she was folding the towel.

"i think i shall stay where i am for a bit," he announced with tranquillity.

it was just as if he had given her a dizzying blow. this, then, was the beginning of the end. she crossed the room to the bed, and gazed at him aghast.

"now, vi!" he admonished her, pulling at his short beard. "now, vi!"

there was so much affection, so much loving banter, in his queer tone, that her glance fell before his, as it had[pg 202] not fallen for months. she covered her exposed throat with her cold, damp hands.

"i shall send for the doctor at once," she announced with vivacity, all her body tingling in sudden energy.

"you'll do nothing of the sort," he said. "i've told you i'm all right. but i'll promise you one thing. next time the medicine-man comes to see you he shall see me as well, if you like.... now"—he changed his tone to the practical—"you can attend to everything in the shop. surely it can manage without me for a day or two."

"'a day or two'!" she thought. "is he taking to his bed permanently? is that it?"

"and i shall save a clean shirt," he said reflectively.

"but, darling, if you're all right, why must you stay in bed? please, please, do be open with me. you never are—if you know what i mean." she spoke with a plaintive and eager appeal, as it were girlishly. her face, with an almost forgotten mobility, showed from moment to moment the varying moods of her emotion; tears hung in her eyes; and she was less than half-dressed. she looked as if she might sob, shriek, and drop in a hysterical paroxysm to the floor.

"something has to be done about that thief of an elsie," henry very calmly explained. "of course, i could put a lock on the cage, but that might seem stingy, miserly, and i should be sorry if anybody thought we were that. besides, she's a good sort in some ways. she's got to be frightened; she's got to be impressed. you send her in to me. you can talk to her yourself as much as you like afterwards, but send her in to me first. i'll teach her a lesson."

"how? what are you going to say to her?"

"i shall tell her we've had the doctor, and make out i'm very ill indeed. and we'll see if that won't shake her up! we'll see if she'll keep on picking and stealing after that! that ought to sober her down. and it will, too. something must be done."

violet was amazed at this revelation of his mentality. she had a new source of alarm now. no doubt the plan[pg 203] would work; but what a plan! how funny! (she meant morbid.) could she cross him? could she deride the plan? she dared not. she dared not trifle with a man in his condition. and the worst was that he might, after all, be only pretending to pretend he was very ill. he might really be very ill.

"elsie," she said shortly in the kitchen, "go to your master. he wants to speak to you."

"is he in the office already, 'm?"

"no, he isn't in the office already. he's in bed. now run along, do!"

as soon as elsie was gone, violet examined the hanging larder. the ravage was appalling. where in heaven's name did the girl stow the food? well might the doctor say that she was well nourished. a good thing if she was to be frightened! she deserved it.... ah! violet did not know which way to turn in the moil of henry's illness, henry's morbidity, her own unnamed malady, and elsie's shocking and incredible vice.

elsie entered the bedroom with extreme apprehension, as for an afflicting solemnity. she thanked god she had had the wit to remove her working apron. mr. earlforward was staring at the ceiling. nothing of him moved except his eyelids, and he appeared not to notice her presence. she waited, twitching her great, red hands. violet had seemed like a girl before him. but here was the genuine girl. elsie's hard experience of life and disaster fell away from her. she was simple and intimidated. youthfulness was her chief characteristic as she stood humbly waiting. her candid youthfulness accused the room of age, decay and distemper.

"elsie, has mrs. earlforward told you anything?"

"no, sir."

"listen." he still did not shift his eyes from the ceiling. "we had the doctor in yesterday afternoon." elsie's heart thumped. had the doctor betrayed her meddling? "he came to buy a book, and we kept him." elsie thought the worst was over. "i'm very ill, elsie, and i shall probably never get up again. do you think[pg 204] it's right of you to go on stealing food as you do, with a dying man in the house?" he spoke very gently.

elsie gave a sob; she was utterly overwhelmed.

"now you must go. i can't do with any fuss, elsie!" he stopped her at the door. "do we give you enough to eat? tell me at once if we don't."

"yes, yes. quite enough!" elsie cried, almost in a shriek, hiding her face in her hands. her condition was so desperate that she had omitted the ceremonial "sir." the rushing tears ran between her fingers as she escaped. she sat a long time in the kitchen sobbing, sobbing for guilt and sobbing for sorrow at her master's fate.