"It will be better in the morning. Hush! Did you hear something?" He opened the door and listened. "Mother sleeps so lightly. Go back, Theresa. Good-night, darling--good-night. Why, your eyes are heavy with sleep." "No," she said, and she had the look of someone starved--"no, that's with crying." He seized her hand and drew her limp figure to him. "Why, my sweet--why? Because we didn't have a happy day? Darling, I'll think no more of it. And you shall tell me everything in the morning. Only go now. You mustn't wander about like this at night." She was leaning against the door. Her lips twitched with an emotion which was no longer one of distress. "What are you afraid of?" she said. He hesitated. "Your--good name," he answered. She lifted her hands and dropped them, and for a moment he thought something terrible was going to happen, for her eyes closed sharply, and in her pale face her opened mouth was like a blot. "Oh!" she cried. "Oh! oh! oh!" She laughed weakly, uncontrollably. She dropped into a chair, while the tears rolled down her cheeks and her body was shaken with her mirth. He stared at her stonily and turned away to look into the fire. The sound of her laughter shocked him, for it had entirely gone beyond her keeping, but gradually it grew quieter and he thought he heard in it the break of sobs. He looked at her. She was leaning her head on her hand and crying softly, but as he turned she smiled and began to shake again. "Why don't you laugh, too?" she said. "You are so funny." "I can see nothing to laugh at. Go to bed at once. You are overwrought." "I am in the best of health," she said. "Oh dear, I wish I could stop laughing! But I'll go to bed." "And you'll talk to me in the morning?" "Yes, I'll talk to you in the morning." That was an answer he had not expected, and he would have kissed her, but she turned her face aside. He noticed that she had a little roll of paper in her right hand. CHAPTER XXVI An immense and palpable calm surrounded her as she undressed, and when she stretched herself between the sheets she fell at once into an untroubled sleep. For a little while the firelight licked the walls, danced on the chair where her clothes were tumbled and leapt to the ceiling to look down on her in the bed, lying pale and flaccid with her cheek on Alexander's letter. Then the fire's heart called back the flames, and they were gathered into a red and tranquil glow which faded, while the dropping coals slowly ticked out their life. But that noise had ceased and the room was entirely dark when Theresa woke and sat up. She thought there was someone in the room, but she was not afraid. She listened, leaning on her hands. "What is it?" she whispered. The room was quiet, but its stillness was heavy as with a presence. She looked behind her; only the wall was there. "What is it?" she repeated.