before her. Charley, on his knees beside the bed, with his arm under his
wife's pillow, stared up at his sister-in-law with the guilty look of a
whipped terrier, while Jane, pallid, suffering, saintly, rested one thin
blue-veined hand on his shoulder. Her face was the colour of the sheet,
her eyes were unnaturally large and surrounded by violet circles; and
her hair, drenched with camphor, spread over the pillow like the hair of
a drowned woman. Never had she appeared so broken, so resigned, so
ineffably spiritual; and Gabriella's solitary comfort was the thought
that Jane's attack had conquered Charley as completely as it had
conquered the rest of them.

"Gabriella, I've forgiven him," said Jane, with fainting sweetness,
"and he wants you and mother to do so. He has promised to be good in the
future."

"Well, I shan't forgive him for keeping me up all night," answered
Gabriella resentfully, and she felt that even if it killed Jane, she
could not keep back her reply. "I can't answer for mother, but I haven't
forgiven him and I never shall." She felt her anger hardened to a rock
inside of her, and it hurt her so that she put the glass hurriedly down
on the table and ran out of the room. As she closed the door behind her
she heard Jane saying gently: "Yes, I forgive you, Charley, but I can't
help feeling that you don't love me as you ought to."

An old cape of her mother's was lying on a chair in the hall, and,
throwing it over her shoulders, Gabriella went out on the porch and
stood breathing quickly in the cold air, with her hand pressed on her
bosom, which rose and fell as if she had been running. She was not only
furious, she was grossly affronted, though she had known from the
beginning, she said to herself, exactly how it would end. She had never