Slowly she half raised herself from the pillow, her right arm going out as if to shield the tiny bit of life beside her, her great eyes staring at the intruder; the inclination to shriek was met by the paralysis of every faculty and she could do no more than moan once in her fear. The eyes of the tall, gaunt man, upon whose face the fitful light of the candle threw weird shadows, held her motionless. "Wha--what do you want?" she finally whispered. "Justine, don't you--don't you know me?" he asked, hoarsely, not conscious of the question, motionless in the doorway. "Oh, oh," she moaned, tremulously, and then her hand was stretched toward him, wonder, uncertainty, fear in her eyes. "I am Jud--Jud; don't you know me? Don't be frightened," he went on, mechanically. "It is a dream--oh, it is a dream," she whispered. "No, no! I thought you were asleep. Don't look at me, Justine, don't look at me! Oh God, I cannot do it--I cannot!" He fell back against the wall. The knife clattered to the floor. Half convinced, now that she was thoroughly awake, Justine pressed her hand to her eyes, and then, suddenly with a glad cry, threw back the bed covers and sprang to the floor. "Don't come near me," he cried, drawing back. She paused in amazement. "What is it, Jud--what is it?" she cried. "Why are you here? What has happened?" The candle dropped from his nerveless fingers. "Justine!" he groaned, stricken with terror in the darkness. An instant later he felt her warm arms about him and her trembling voice was pleading with him to tell her what had happened. He was next conscious of lying back in the old rocker, listlessly watching her relight the candle. It was freezing cold in the room. His lips and cheeks were warm where she had kissed them. And he had thought to touch her dear, loving lips only after they were cold in the death he was bringing. "Tell me, Jud, dear Jud," she cried, dropping to her knees beside him, her hands clutching his shoulders. Even in the dim, uncertain light he could see how thin and wan she had grown--he could see the suffering of months. A muffled wail came from the bed and her face turned instantly in that direction. His hand fell heavily upon hers. "Whose child is that?" he demanded, harshly. She looked up into his face with a quick, startled glance, the bewildered expression in her eyes slowly giving way to one of pain. "Why, Jud!" she cried, shrinking back. Her honest brown eyes searched his face. "Is it mine?" he asked, blind with suspicion. "How could it be any one's but--Oh, Jud Sherrod! Do you mean that--that--you don't think he is--my husband, do you think that of me?" she whispered, slowly shrinking away from him. "I--I--you did not tell me," he muttered, dazed and bewildered. "How was I to know?"