He must let her sleep. Her beauty and her graces needed sleep. It was his blessed privilege to guard her slumbers, his pride to house her well and to see that she slept in fabrics suited to the delicate fabric of her exquisite body. But if only she might chance to be awake that he might tell her how sorry he was that he had been weak and wicked enough to torment her with his baseless fears and his unreasonable ire. At least he must touch her with tenderness. Even though she slept, he must give her the benediction of one light caress. He put his hand out cautiously toward her. He laid his fingers gently on her cheek. How beautiful it was even in the dark! But it was wet! with tears! Suddenly her little invisible fingers closed upon his hand like grape tendrils. But this did not prove her awake. So habited they were to each other that even in their sleep their bodies gave or answered such endearments. He waited till his loneliness for her was unendurable, then he breathed, softly: "Are you asleep, honey?" For answer she whirled into his bosom and clenched him in her arms and wept--in whispers lest the children hear. He petted her tenderly and kissed her hair and her eyelids and murmured: "Did I wake you, honey?" "No, no!" she sobbed. "I've been awake for hours." "But you didn't move!" "I was afraid to waken you. You need your rest so much. I've been thinking how hard you work, how good you are. I'm so ashamed of myself for--" "But it was all my fault, honey." "Oh no, no, my dear, my dear!" He let her have the last word; for an enormous contentedness filled his heart. He drew the covers about her shoulder and held her close and breathed deep of the companionship of the soul he had chosen. He breathed so deeply that his head drooped over hers, his cheek upon her hair. The night seemed to bend above them and mother them and say to them, "Hush! hush! and sleep!" There are many raptures in the world, and countless beautiful moments, and not the least of them is this solemn marriage in sleep of the man and woman whose days are filled with cares, and under whose roof at night children and servants slumber aloof secure. While these two troubled spirits found repose and renewal, locked each in the other's arms, the blackness was gradually withdrawn from the air. In the sky there came a pallor that grew to a twilight and became a radiance and a splendor. And night was day. It would soon be time for the father to rise and go forth to his work, and for the mother to rise to the offices of the home. THE MAN THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN I In the tame little town of Hillsdale he seemed the tamest thing of all, Will Rudd--especially appropriate to a kneeling trade, a shoe clerk by election. He bent the pregnant hinges to anybody soever that entered the shop, with its ingenious rebus on the sign-board: [Illustration: CLAY KITTREDGE and Emporium Nobby Footwear]