contact with the primitive man. But reflection chilled her the next moment.
“But why—why? Oh, how could you? Where did it happen—oh, not in the street?”
As she questioned him, there rose before her the terrified vision of a crowd gathering—the police, newspapers, a hideous publicity. He must have been mad to do it—and yet he must have done it because he loved her!
“No—no. Don’t be afraid. The powers looked after that too. There was no one about—and I don’t think he’ll talk much about it.”
She trembled, fearing yet adoring him. Nothing could have been more unlike the Amherst she fancied she knew than this act of irrational anger which had magically lifted the darkness from his spirit; yet, magically also, it gave him back to her, made them one flesh once more. And suddenly the pressure of opposed emotions became too strong, and she burst into tears.
She wept painfully, violently, with the resistance of strong natures unused to emotional expression; till at length, through the tumult of her tears, she felt her husband’s reassuring touch.
“Justine,” he said, speaking once more in his natural voice.
She raised her face from her hands, and they looked at each other.
[ 531 ]
