She was more a woman than formerly, perhaps. He did not understand her
whimsies. But still they had talked kindly to each other with their
eyes. They communed in mysterious ways--by looks, by slight pressures,
by the innumerable intuitions which had grown up, coral-wise, from the
depths of silence.
But this intercourse was founded upon sympathy. That once gone, she
became unfathomable and lost to him, as much so as if visible bonds had
been severed.--
A certain terror possessed him at the waywardness she manifested.
Evidently some concession must be made.
"Come," he said, turning her face toward him with a tremulous hand. "I
will make you a little gift for your birthday. What shall it be?"
She stood still--then made the very gesture to her bosom and around her
neck, which had already sent Peter scurrying landward.
The movement evoked a deadly chill in Rackby's heart. Was the past,
then, to rise against him, and stretch out its bloodless hands to link
with living ones? That sinister co-tenant he had seen peering at him
through the blue eyes would get the better of him yet.
Conscious of his mood, she leaped away from him like a fawn. A guilty
light was in her eye, and she ran out of the house.
Rackby followed her in terror, not knowing which way to go in the lonely
darkness to come up with her.
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