as bad as the rest in her conversation.  It was the second time a married woman had run her down to me, and I commenced to think there might be something in it, and suffered all my mad jealousy over again.  Not knowing the freedom actors and actresses allow themselves on tour, without there being necessarily anything in it, I worried till I thought I had nothing to do but die.  And then one of the great struggles of my life occurred.  Walking the country roads, I asked myself:  “If it is true, if she has been unfaithful, will you forgive her and help her to arrive at her best?” For a long time the answer was “No!” But perhaps my striving for unity with myself had done some good, and the final resolution was for forgiveness.  I felt more peace of mind then, and when I told a dying consumptive lodger in the house what the landlady had said, he replied, “Don’t you believe a word of it.  I know she loves you!"....

After an absence I found myself one evening in a town where A. was performing.  I went round to the back and they told me she had gone to a room in the hotel to change for another part.  I followed and entered the room, with a glass of spirits I found that an effeminate young actor was bringing to her.  She was half undressed, her beautiful arms and shoulders bare.  My arrival was unexpected and she looked at me surprised, I thought coldly, as I reproached her for not keeping a promise she had made to me to touch no alcohol during the tour, but soon her arms were round my neck.  She cried like a child.  She was bigger and handsomer and healthier.  There was not only an increased strength and size, but an increased delicacy and sweetness; her eyes and brows were lovely; there was an indescribable bloom and fragrance on her, such as the sun leaves on a peach; the traveling, country air, and freedom from coitus (had I known it) had enabled her to arrive at her true self, not only a beautiful woman, but a woman of fascination, of wit, vivacity and universal camaraderie.  Her face was like the dawn; all my fears and jealousy left me like a cloud that melts before the sun.  I remember the look on her face as she embraced me in bed that night.  It had just the very smallest touch of sensuality, but was more like some beautiful child’s who is being caressed by one she loves; this divine, drowsy-eyed, adorable look I had never seen on her face before—­nor have I since.

We fell back into our old lustful ways.  Later on A. became ill and the black devil of epilepsy returned.  I became gloomy....  A restlessness and selfish brutality came over me; our love and peace were gone.  I persuaded A. to go to Melbourne and look out for an engagement.  The day before she was to sail we went to Glenelg for a trip.  The sea air, as often happened, precipitated A.’s fits.  We had gone down to the pier and A. said she felt bad.  I just managed to support her to the hotel before she became stiff, and I made some impatient remark (for she nearly dragged