caution. The moonlight was streaming in on the poor gauds, which
lay wildly scattered over the floor. David looked at them with
amazement. Amongst them he saw something glittering. He picked it
up, saw it was a gold necklace which had been his mother's, and
carefully put it on the little toilet table.

Then he walked on to the bed. Louie was lying with her face turned
away from him. A certain pause in the sobbing as he came near told
him that she knew he was there. But it began again directly, being
indeed a physical relief which the child could not deny herself. He
stood beside her awkwardly. He could think of nothing to say. But
timidly he stretched out his hand and laid the back of it against
her wet cheek. He half expected she would shake it off, but she did
not. It made him feel less lonely that she let it stay; the impulse
to comfort had somehow brought himself comfort. He stood there,
feeling very cold, thinking a whirlwind of thoughts about old
'Lias, about the sheep, about Titus and Jerusalem, and about
Louie's extraordinary proceedings--till suddenly it struck him that
Louie was not crying any more. He bent over her. The sobs had
changed into the long breaths of sleep, and, gently drawing away
his hand, he crept off to bed.




CHAPTER IV


It was Sunday afternoon, still cold, nipping, and sunny. Reuben
Grieve sat at the door of the farmhouse, his pipe in his hand, a