Wolf shuffled backwards, expecting at any moment to see his own manuscript follow Urn-Burial . The thought of the heron’s feather rushed through his mind; but he didn’t dare to move lest he should vex her further. Foolishly he clenched and unclenched his fingers and stared at the band round her waist.

“I’d like to go away from you both!” she cried passionately. “I’d like to go away, far from everyone, where no one could find me!”

“I’m very sorry, Christie,” he repeated helplessly.

“To read it,” she began again, “when I wasn’t there and when you knew what I felt!” Her voice grew husky now and choked in the utterance. Then a shiver went through her and her slight frame stiffened. With a long, scrutinizing look she seemed to stare right through his fumbling, bewildered consciousness.

“I’ll go, Christie,” he murmured. “Don’t be too angry. I say I was wrong to do that. I’ll go now. I only came in for a minute.”