He went over all the years gone, and pictured the years to come; he remembered the money that was to help his divine soul upward; he thought of it with a curse, getting up and pacing the floor of the narrow room, slowly and quietly.
Looking out into the still starlight and the quaint garden, he tried to fancy this woman as he knew her, after the restless power of her soul should have been chilled and starved into a narrow, lifeless duty.

He fancied her old, and stern, and sick of life, she that might have been what might they not have been, together?
And he had driven her to this for money,--money! It was of no use to repent of it now.

He had frozen the love out of her heart, long ago.

He remembered (all that he did remember of the blank night after he was hurt) that he had seen her white, worn-out face looking down at him; that she did not touch him; and that, when one of the sisters told her she might take her place, and sponge his forehead, she said, bitterly, she had no right to do it, that he was no friend of hers.

He saw and heard that, unconscious to all else; he would have known it, if he had been dead, lying there.