He rose, threw on a dressing-gown, and sat by a window watching it.

Its tumult and fury seemed to ease his heart of some little of its pain; in that dark hour a quiet night would have maddened him.
In eight hours--eight short hours--this matter would be ended so far as concerned their actual intercourse.

It would be a secret locked for ever in their two breasts, a secret eating at their hearts, cruel as the worm that dieth not.

Geoffrey looked up and threw out his heart's thought towards his sleeping love.

Then once more, as in a bygone night, there broke upon his brain and being that mysterious spiritual sense.