"Regina," he called. But she did not move.
"Come and meet me, Regina!"
Then with elevated shoulders she slowly glided nearer, the fingers of her left hand outspread, and pressed against her breast.
He looked at her, and was horrified. "My God!" he exclaimed, "how changed you are!"
Her appearance was wild and distraught in the extreme. Her clothes were torn, her hair, which under the frequent use of the comb had begun to fall into such splendid glossy waves, once more hung over her forehead and cheeks in a shaggy, unkempt mass. Her eyes shone with feverish, almost uncanny lustre from dark-blue cavities, and she dared not raise them to his.
"She is pining away," something cried in him. "She will die, because of you." He took hold of her hand and it lay limply in his palm.
"Regina, do speak. Aren't you glad that I've come back?"
She ducked her head, as she had been in the habit of doing when she instinctively expected blows instead of kind words.
He stroked her rough, dry hair. "Poor thing!" he said. "You must have had a dreadfully dull time of it, with not a human soul to speak to----"
She shrank from his touch and was still silent.