At last she had seen and heard, and read his naked heart.

At last she knew him--mad, and in his madness, most unfaithful--a man who loved one dead and dragged her down to earth for company.
Look! there in his charmed and secret sight stood the spirit, and there, over against her, the mortal woman, and he--wavering--he lost between the two.
Certainly he had been sick a long while, since the sun-ray touched the face of the old abbot carved in that corner of the room to support the hammer beam.

This, as he had known from a child, only chanced at mid-summer.

Mary was bending over him, but he was astonished to find that he could sit up and move.

Surely, then, his mind must have been more ill than his body.
"Hush!" she said, "drink this, dear, and go to sleep." It was a week after, and Morris had told her all, the kind and gentle wife who was so good to him, who understood and could even smile as he explained, in faltering, shame-heavy words.