talking in sleep. Altogether his manner was so strange that poor Vjera
feared the very worst. The extremity of her anxiety kept her from losing
her self-possession. For the first time in her life she felt that she was
the stronger of the two, and that if he was to be saved it must be by her
efforts rather than by anything he was now able to do for himself. She
loved him, mad or sane, with an admiration and a devotion which took no
account of his intellectual state except to grieve over it for his own
sake. The belief that in this crisis she might be of use to him, strongly
conquered the rising hysterical passion, and drove the tears so far from
her eyes that she wondered vaguely why she had been so near to shedding
them a few moments sooner. She pressed his arm with her hand.

"And I, too, I love you, with all my heart and soul," she said. "And if
you will tell me what has happened, I will do what I can--if it were my
life that were needed. I know I can help you, for God will help me."

He raised his head a little and again stood still, gazing into her eyes
with an odd sort of childish wonder.

"What makes you so strong, Vjera? You used to be a weak little thing."

"Love," she answered.

It was strange to see such a man, outwardly lean, tough-looking, well put
together and active, though not, indeed, powerful, looking at the poor
white-faced girl and asking the secret of her strength, as though he
envied it. But at that moment, the natural situation was reversed. His
eyes were lustreless, tired, without energy. Hers were suddenly bright and
flashing with determination, and with the expression of her new-found
will. Vjera felt that all at once a change had come over her, the weak