of ugliness and hatefulness, he was so beautiful to her that she could have wept from thankfulness.  The world had taken from her everything, the very little that she had ever possessed, the purity that every creature has once, the innocence that she had never understood, left her this tipsy, degraded, abandoned, tragic atom of evil.  And a great glory was hers.  She could have fallen upon her knees in blessing and thankfulness, forgetful of all her tribe of sorrows, conscious only that she was a woman crowned and throned.  By degrees she forgot that she was starving, forgot everything in an ecstasy of pure passion and pride, an ecstasy that brought food, rest, calm, to her.

In the dawn Julian stirred and murmured incoherent words.  Cuckoo bent down to hear them.  But he slept again.  And as the dawn grew, the light and airy feeling within her grew with it, till she seemed to be floating in the air and among soft, billowing clouds.  At first there was light through them, light of the sun, strong and beautiful.  But then it faded.  And darkness came, and strange sounds like far-off voices, and a murmur as of waters deepening in volume and rushing upon her.  They reached her.  She put out her hands and thought she cried out.

The waters swept her away.

* * * * *

“Cuckoo!  Cuckoo!  What is it?  Cuckoo!”

“She’s a-comin’—­she’s a-comin’ to.”

“Give me some more water, then.”

Cuckoo felt it very cold upon her face, and fancied at first that it was those rushing waters of her dream.  But the darkness parted, showing her two faces close together, one old and withered and yellow, one young, but white and lined.  At first she looked at them without recognition.  Again she felt the cold drops of water dashing against her cheeks and lips, and then she knew Mrs. Brigg and Julian, and she saw her little room, and that it was morning and light.  They helped her to sit up.  She glanced wearily towards the table.

“What is it, Cuckoo?” Julian said.

“Food; I’m starving,” she whispered, faintly.

Horror was written on his face.

“Starving!  What the devil does she mean?”

He turned on Mrs. Brigg, who suddenly shrunk away muttering: 

“I’ll get something; breakfast—­I’ll get it.”

Julian looked dazed.  He was only recovering gradually from his drunken stupor.

“Starving—­starving,” he repeated, vacantly staring at Cuckoo, who said nothing more, only lay back, trying to understand things, and to emerge from the mists and noises in which she still seemed to be floating.  Presently Mrs. Brigg returned and shuffled about the table with a furtive, contorted face, laying breakfast.  The teapot smoked.

“Come along, my dearie,” began the old creature.

But Julian thrust her out of the room.  He brought Cuckoo tea and food, fed her, put the cup to her lips.  At first she had scarcely the strength to swallow, but presently she began to revive, and then ate and drank so ravenously that Julian, even in his vague condition, was appalled.