Little Elliston was leisurely over his
repast, and she was stiff with cold when at last she stole back into bed.
Stefan lay upon his side. She crept close, and in her turn put an arm
about him. He was here again, her man, and her child was close at hand,
warm and comforted from her breast. Love was all about her, and to-night
she was not mocked. Warm again from his touch, she, too, fell at last,
with all the dreaming house, asleep.
III
Stefan stayed at home for several days, sleeping long hours, and
seemingly unusually subdued. He would lie reading on the sofa while Mary
wrote, and often she turned from her manuscript to find him dozing. They
took a few walks together, during which he rarely spoke, but seemed glad
of her silent company. Once he called with her on Mrs. Farraday, and
actually held an enormous skein of wool for the old lady while she,
busily winding, told them anecdotes of her son James, and of her long
dead husband. He made no effort to talk, seeming content to sit receptive
under the soothing flow of her reminiscences.
"Thee is a good boy," said the little lady, patting his hand kindly as
the last shred of wool was wound.
"I'm afraid not, ma'am," said he, dropping quaintly into the address of
his childhood. "I'm just a rudderless boat staggering under topheavy
sails.
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