Mary dropped her hands; the tears gathered in her eyes.
"And I am childless," she faltered.
He sprang up as if he wrenched himself free from torture.
"Do not leave me," entreated Mary feebly. "I think I am not very well, after all, and you promised to stay—forgive me—but indeed I think of it and your great kindness."
He turned about and leant over her chair. Mary clung to him with hot hands.
"No one could have loved you more," she said, in great agitation—"too much, for my own peace——"
Her fever-flushed face drooped against the lace on his bosom; he put his arm round her, and she gave a great sigh; the tears were on her lashes and running slowly down her face; he kissed her loose hair and the hand on his shoulder.
"God," he said, in an unsteady whisper, answering his own desperate fears, "could not be so cruel."
CHAPTER IX
CHRISTMAS EVE