Osborn put his face down and cried tears that he could not stop. He
longed to feel Marie's hand, forgiving him, on his head, but she had
no comfort for him. She lay so still, without sound or sign, that
soon, checking his grief with an effort nearly too big for him, he
looked up and saw that she was crying, too. She was too weak to cry
passionately, but her weeping was very bitter. This frightened him, so
that he sprang up on tiptoes and called the nurse back. He kept his
own shamed, wretched face in shadow.

The nurse sent him away and Marie had not spoken one word.

He crept into the kitchen and made tea, found cold food and ate a
scratch sort of meal; he had eaten nothing since early morning, and
then not much.

He had received a great big shock.

He did not know that women suffered so. He had sometimes read how
after the birth of a baby, the husband went in and found his wife,
pale perhaps, tired perhaps, but radiant, joyful, triumphant. He had
not known that anguished mothers wept such bitter tears. Nothing was
as he had been led to believe.

Could she ever get well?

The nurse came in quickly and softly, and saw the haggard man sitting
at a deal table, eating his scraps. She viewed the situation wisely.

"You'll have to get the porter's wife in to look after you a bit," she