It was the first time she had laughed in those long, dreary
months.
"No, no; I can get down myself," she said, slipping cautiously on to the
floor. "You see!" She cast a defiant glance of triumph when she stood
there. "Hold the curtain up high, I want to look at myself."
He raised it, and stood holding it. She looked into the glass on the
opposite wall.
Such a queenly little figure in its pink and white. Such a transparent
little face, refined by suffering into an almost angel-like beauty. The
face looked at her; she looked back, laughing softly. Doss, quivering with
excitement, ran round her, barking. She took one step toward the door,
balancing herself with outstretched hands.
"I am nearly there," she said.
Then she groped blindly.
"Oh, I cannot see! I cannot see! Where am I?" she cried.
When Gregory reached her she had fallen with her face against the sharp
foot of the wardrobe and cut her forehead. Very tenderly he raised the
little crushed heap of muslin and ribbons, and laid it on the bed. Doss
climbed up, and sat looking down at it. Very softly Gregory's hands
disrobed her.
"You will be stronger tomorrow, and then we shall try again," he said, but
she neither looked at him nor stirred.
When he had undressed her, and laid her in bed, Doss stretched himself
across her feet and lay whining softly.
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