Rachael made no comment. For a moment her eyes widened nervously, and a
little shudder rippled through her. Then silently she gathered up the
leather belt and chains of beads that she had been loosening as she
listened, and slowly went toward the door.
They did not speak again of Clarence that night, although they chatted
easily for the next hour on other topics, even laughing a little as the
various episodes of the evening were passed in review.
But Rachael did not sleep, nor did she sleep during the long hours of
the following night. On the third night she wakened her husband
suddenly from his sleep.
"Greg--Greg! Won't you talk to me a little? I'm going mad, I think!"
"Rachael! What is it?" stammered the doctor, blinking in the dim light
of Rachael's bedside lamp. His wife, haggard, with her rich hair
falling in two long braids over her shoulders, was sitting on the side
of his bed. "What is it, darling--hear something?" he asked, more
naturally, putting his arm about her.
"I've been lying awake--and lying awake!" said Rachael, panting. "I
haven't shut my eyes--it's nearly three. Greg, I keep seeing
it--Clarence's face, you know, with that horrible scar! What shall I
do?"
Shivering, gasping, wild-eyed, she clung to him, and for a long hour he
soothed her as if she had been an hysterical child. He put her into a
comfortable chair, mixed her a sedative, and knelt beside her, slowly
winning her back to calm and sanity again. It was terrible, of course,
but no one but Clarence himself was to blame, unless it was poor Billy--
"Yes, I must see Billy when she comes back!" Rachael said quickly, when
the tranquillizing voice reached this point. If Warren Gregory's quiet
mouth registered any opposition, she did not see it, and he did not
express it. She was presently sound asleep, still catching a long
childish breath as she slept. But she woke smiling, with all the horrid
visions of the past few days apparently blotted out, and she and Warren
went gayly downtown to get steamer tickets, and buy appropriate frocks
and hats for the spring heat of Bermuda.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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