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—Bless you.’ He leaned to her and kissed her. It was as if in leaving her he placed a gift in her hand and closed her fingers upon it, whispering: ‘Don’t look.’

The moon had risen and the stars come out. She went to the dim clock and saw that it was past seven. Clive had had no tea. Up there at The Crofts Hester must indeed have waited for him, wondering. First the child and then the husband:—Would that be what she would be saying to herself? It was so women’s minds moved; poor, wretched women, dramatizing their griefs. To see Hester, with herself, as one of them, brought a pang of actual pity for her. It was good to be able to pity Hester and the balm of her contentment still breathed upon her as she stepped out into the quiet evening, delicious with its smell of darkened earth and fading smoke. She walked up and down the lawn, looking at the stars. What sorrow and what happiness were hers. For the first time she knew the unity brought by shared suffering, and in securing her insight, under the illumined sky, she felt herself, if only for a moment, lay hold of some deep secret of life. Only through such sorrow was such happiness distilled. She must be worthy of it; worthy, or it would melt from her grasp; and it