Part 63 (1/2)

And now, too, Gilbert's voice had become smooth and level. The quick and pleasant vibration of it at its best, the uneasy rise and fall of it at its worst, had alike given place to a suave, creamy monotone which didn't seem natural.

The face, also, enlarged and puffed by recent excesses, had further changed. The redness had gone from the skin. Even the eyes were bloodshot no longer. They looked fish-like, though. They had a steady introspective glare about them. The lips were red and moist, in this new and rather horrible face. The clear contour and moulding were preserved, but a quiet dreamy smile lurked about and never left them.

...”Gilbert, have you come to say goodnight?”

”Yes, dear,”--it _was_ an odd purring sort of voice--”How do you feel?”

”Not very well, dear. I am going to try very hard to sleep to-night.

You're rather early in coming, are you not?”

”Yes, dear, I am. But the moon and the tides are right to-night and the wild duck are flighting. I am going out after widgeon to-night. I ought to do well.”

”Oh, I see. I hope you'll have good luck, dear.”

”I hope so. Oh, and I forgot, Mary, I thought of going off for three days to-morrow, down towards the Ess.e.x coast. I should take Tumpany.

I've had a letter from the Wild Fowlers' a.s.sociation man there to say that the geese are already beginning to come over. Would you mind?”

Mary saw that he had already made up his mind to go--for some reason or other.

”Yes, go by all means, dear,” she said, ”the change and the sport will do you good.”

”You will be all right?”--how soapy and mechanical that voice was... .

”Oh, of course I shall. Don't think a _bit_ about me. Perhaps--” she hesitated for a moment and then continued with the most winning sweetness--”perhaps, Gillie darling, it will buck you up so that you won't want to ...”

The strange voice that was coming from him dried the longing, loving words in her throat.

”Well, then, dear, I shall say good-bye, now. You see I shall be out most of this night, and if Tumpany and I are to catch the early train from Wordingham and have all the guns ready, we must leave here before you will be awake. I mean, you sleep into the morning a little now, don't you?”

He seemed anxious as he asked.

”Generally, Gillie. Then if it is to be good-bye for two days, good-bye my dear, dear husband. Come----”

She held out her arms, lying there, and he had to bend into her embrace.

”I shall pray for you all the time you are away,” she whispered. ”I shall think of my boy every minute. G.o.d bless you and preserve you, my dear husband.”

She was doubtless about to say more, to murmur other words of sacred wifely love, when her arms slid slowly away from him and lay motionless upon the counterpane.

Immediately they did so, the man's figure straightened itself and stood upright by the side of the bed.

”Well, I'll go now,” he said. ”Good-night, dear.”

He turned his full, palish face upon her, the yellow point of flame, coming through the top of the candle shade, showed it in every detail.

Fixed, introspective eyes, dreamy painted smile, a suave, uninterested farewell.

The door closed gently behind him. It was closed as a bland doctor closes a door.

Mary lay still as death.