“Where are you going?” she asked half fearfully.
“To bed,” he said gruffly. “My head aches. Good-night.”
[56]
]CHAPTER V.
BETWEEN A DREAM AND A DREAM.
“It isn’t the thing you do, dear,
It’s the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you a bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun—
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle and winsome tone,
That you had no time nor thought for,