little trimming and no jewelry. And she looked so tall and beautiful,
and so something I didn't have a name for, that I was afraid, and my
heart beat so thick and fast I thought she'd hear.

I hated it. Hated that satin dress, and the places where she wore it
when away from the Asylum; and I sat up in bed, for lying down it was
hard to breathe.

Presently she turned from the fire where she had been standing, looking
in, and came toward me and kissed me good-night.

In her face was something I had never seen before--something so quiet
and proud that I couldn't sleep for a long time after she went away.

It wasn't just the same as the remembrance look I had seen several times
before, when she forgot she wasn't by herself. It was prouder than that,
and it meant something that didn't get better--just worse.

What was it? If it's a man, who is he? He must be living, for it isn't
the look that means something is dead. It means something that won't
die, but is never, never going to be told.




XI

FINDING OUT