“Julie!” he cried.
But she put up her hands, motioning him away as before, and without a word turned back into the dark room, shutting the door between them.
Tim sat on alone in the kitchen. As the hours passed slowly away, he went on tiptoe several times to listen at the sitting-room door, and at last, late in the night, as there was no sound, he turned the handle and pushed the door open cautiously. But instantly she cried out in the dark, “No, Tim, no!”
So he shut the door again as softly as he had opened it, and after a moment’s hesitation, stretched himself out upon the floor in front of it. But after all, if she opened the door suddenly to come out, there was danger that she might stumble over him and get a fall; so he rose and at last went lonesomely into the bedroom and slipping off his shoes, flung himself, all dressed as he was, upon the bed.
XX
In the early morning following that long night Julie came softly into the bedroom and found Tim lying there asleep, all dressed as he had flung himself upon the bed. He opened his eyes as she entered.
“I—I broke one of your little cups last night, honey,” he said confusedly, “one of your best ones. I certainly am sorry.” He sat up in bed, staring at her in all the bleak tragedy of the gray dawn.
“I broke your little best cup, an’ I reckon I’ve broke your heart, too,” he said.
She put out her hands swiftly and drew his head passionately close against her breast, bowing her face down to it.
“My love, my love!” she cried, stumbling and sobbing through the words. “You made all my heart—all my life—it was yours to break or do with like you pleased.”