The way she pressed her hands to her bosom convinced Daniel, and quite emphatically too, that she did not know the feeling of envy or jealousy. He said nothing, but remained in her room for an unusually long while. When she was cutting bread, she let the knife fall. He sprang and picked it up for her. He had never done this before. Gertrude looked at him as he bent over. Her eyes became dim, flared up, and then became dim again. “Don’t speak of God!” Somehow Daniel could not get these words out of his mind. When Eleanore returned she was terrified at the expression on Daniel’s face. He seemed dazed; his eyes were inflamed as though he too had not been able to sleep; he could hardly talk. Finally he demanded that she swear to him never to go away again. She hesitated to take an oath of this kind, but he became more and more insistent, and she took it. He threw his arms about her with passionate impetuosity; just then the door opened, and Gertrude stood on the threshold. Daniel hastened to her, and wanted to take her by the hand; but she stepped back and back until she reached her bedroom. It was evening; covers were laid for four: Jordan was to take dinner with them that evening. He came down promptly; Eleanore brought in the food; but Gertrude was nowhere to be found. Eleanore went in to her. She was sitting by the cradle, combing her hair with slow deliberation. “Won’t you eat with us, Gertrude?” asked Eleanore. Gertrude did not seem to hear her. In a few minutes she got up, walked over to the mirror on the wall, pressed her hair with the palms of her hands to her two cheeks, and looked in the mirror with wide-opened eyes. “Come, Gertrude,” said Eleanore, rather timidly, “Daniel is waiting.” “That they are in there again,” murmured Gertrude, “it seems like a sin.” She turned around, and beckoned to Eleanore. Eleanore went over to her in perfect obedience. Gertrude threw her arms around her neck until her left temple touched Eleanore’s right one with only her hair hanging between them like a curtain. Gertrude again looked in the mirror; her eyes became rigid; she said: “Oh yes, you are more beautiful, much more beautiful, a hundred times more beautiful.” Just then the child began to stir, and since Gertrude was still standing immovable before the mirror, Eleanore went to the cradle. Hardly had Gertrude noticed what she had done, when she rushed out and cried with terrifying rudeness: “Don’t touch that child! Don’t touch it, I say!” She then went up, snatched the child from the cradle, and went back to her bed with it, saying gently and yet threateningly: “It belongs to me, to me and to no one else.” Since this incident, Eleanore knew that a fearful change had come over her sister. She did not know whether other people noticed it; she did not even know whether Daniel was aware of it. But she knew it, and it frightened her.