At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. For an instant, Melusine watched him go. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. But I don’t suppose you can understand. I shall never come back. She stepped backwards. After a while he spoke again. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. “Odd!” she said. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year.
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