She felt widely separated in spirit from her husband; he seemed strangely indifferent to her; only his bitter sense of injury and hurt remained, his love had become a dead thing, since his very weakness carried him beyond the need of her.

She belonged to his full life and there was nothing of tenderness and sympathy that survived.

A slight noise caused her to turn from the window.

Marshall was endeavoring to draw himself higher on his pillow.
"Here--lift me up--" he gasped, as she ran to his side.
She passed an arm about him and did as he desired.
"That's better--" he panted.
"Shall I call the doctor ?" He shook his head and, as she withdrew her arm, lay back weak and shaken.
"I tell you I am hurt internally!" he said.
"Let me call the doctor!" she entreated.
"What can he do ?" "Marsh, if you believe this--" she began.
"You're thinking of him!" he snarled.
"I am thinking of you, Marsh!" "He threw you over for the Herbert girl!" he said with an evil ghastly smile.

"Do you want to save him for her ?" "You don't need to tell all, Marsh--" she said eagerly.
"That's you!" and he laughed under his breath.