In the next moment she was leaning over him, calling him in soft, distinct tones by his name.
"Love," she said, "do you hear me?"
He moaned, turning upon his back. The heavy jaw came fully into view, and the too thick throat which in the daytime the tall, close collar hid. With a light touch she swept the hair which, clinging low over his brow, so disguised it, backward.
"I hear," he answered in the thick, difficult voice of the sleeper.
"Love, I love you," she said. "Tell me, do you love me?"
A pause; then, "With my soul," he answered heavily.
"And—that other wife? Tell me, love."
The answer had always to be waited for, and seemed to come in unwilling response to the command of an intelligence afar off.
"Hate—I hated her," the sleeper said.
"She knew it—at last. Did she—did she kill herself? Tell me the truth, love, as you love me."