A strong suspicion rose in him and seemed to pulse into life with the strong beat of his heart. How strong a beat it was; how faint and far any whispers of the old ill. What if he were not going to die? What if he were to go on loving Kitty for a lifetime?
And at that the mere hysterics conquered the tears; he burst out laughing. There, on Kitty's breast, he laughed and laughed, helpless, cruel and ridiculous.
Terrified, she tried to still him. When he lifted his face he saw that hers was ashen, set to meet the tragedy of imminent parting. Did she think it the death rattle?
He flung his head back from her kisses, flung himself back from her arms. Still laughing the convulsive laugh he got up and pushed away the chair.
"I'm tired--I'm so tired, Kitty," he said.
She sat, her hands fallen in her lap, staring at him.
"You are tired, too," he went on; "it's been a tiring day, hasn't it?--we have been through a lot, haven't we, poor Kitty? Poor Kitty:--do go to bed now. Will you go to bed, and leave me here to rest a little?"
"Nicholas, are you mad--what has happened to you?" she murmured, spellbound, not daring to move.
"Why, I'm ill, you know; I'm very ill. I'm not mad--I'm only so abominably tired. You mustn't ask questions; I can't stand it,--I can't stand it----" And, leaning his arms on the back of the chair, resting his face on them, with tears of sheer fatigue, tears untouched by laughter--"I'm so tired. I want to be alone," he sobbed.
The abominable moments that followed were more full of shame for him than any he had even known:--of shame, and of relief. He had torn his way, with his words, out of the nest; he had fallen to the ground. He was ashamed and horrified, yet--oh, the joy, the deep joy of being on the ground, out in the cold, fresh world, out of the nest.
At last he heard her speak, slowly, softly, with difficulty, as though she were afraid of angering him. "Shall I go away, Nicholas?"
His face was still hidden. "Yes, do go to bed," he answered.
"You would--send for me--if you were dying?"
"And----" she had risen, not daring to draw near, he knew that the trembling voice came through tears:--"And, you love me? you love me a little?"
It was over. She was gone. She had not asked for his good-night kiss. It was like a sword between them.