“She is your wife. One must know,” and he mopped his brow.
“Certainly––one must know,” very soberly.
Alone together in the little unfinished room under the rafters, the woman sat down on the corner of the bed, physical discomfort forgotten in feminine curiosity.
“Those names––where did you get them?” she queried.
“They came to me––at the moment,” smiled the man.
“But the cold-blooded horror of them!... Ichabod!”
“The glory has departed.”
His companion started, and the smile left the man’s face.
“And Camilla?”––slowly.
“Attendant at a sacrifice.”