"The Grey Dawn," she said, glancing round at the window. "I was never
afraid of anything, never, when I was a little child, but I have always
been afraid of that. You will not let it come in to me?"
"No, no; I will stay with you," he continued.
But she was growing calmer. "No, you must go to bed. I only awoke with a
start; you must be tired. I am childish, that is all;" but she shivered
again.
He sat down beside her, after some time she said: "Will you not rub my
feet?"
He knelt down at the foot of the bed and took the tiny foot in his hand; it
was swollen and unsightly now, but as he touched it he bent down and
covered it with kisses.
"It makes it better when you kiss it; thank you. What makes you all love
me so?" Then dreamily she muttered to herself: "Not utterly bad, not
quite bad--what makes them all love me so?"
Kneeling there, rubbing softly, with his cheek pressed against the little
foot, Gregory dropped to sleep at last. How long he knelt there he could
not tell; but when he started up awake she was not looking at him. The
eyes were fixed on the far corner, gazing wide and intent, with an
unearthly light.
He looked round fearfully. What did she see there? God's angels come to
call her? Something fearful? He saw only the purple curtain with the
shadows that fell from it.
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