The light of his candle flickered over the boughs of a tree outside the window, and as the branch swayed in the darkness there came before his mind a picture of all the world that lay outside his window; he thought of the immense river and the immense forest, the vast stretches of dry earth and the plains of the sea that encircled the earth; from the sea the sky rose steep and enormous, and the air washed profoundly between the sky and the sea.  How vast and dark it must be tonight, lying exposed to the wind; and in all this great space it was curious to think how few the towns were, and how small little rings of light, or single glow-worms he figured them, scattered here and there, among the swelling uncultivated folds of the world.  And in those towns were little men and women, tiny men and women.  Oh, it was absurd, when one thought of it, to sit here in a little room suffering and caring.  What did anything matter?  Rachel, a tiny creature, lay ill beneath him, and here in his little room he suffered on her account.  The nearness of their bodies in this vast universe, and the minuteness of their bodies, seemed to him absurd and laughable.  Nothing mattered, he repeated; they had no power, no hope.  He leant on the window-sill, thinking, until he almost forgot the time and the place.  Nevertheless, although he was convinced that it was absurd and laughable, and that they were small and hopeless, he never lost the sense that these thoughts somehow formed part of a life which he and Rachel would live together.

Owing perhaps to the change of doctor, Rachel appeared to be rather better next day.  Terribly pale and worn though Helen looked, there was a slight lifting of the cloud which had hung all these days in her eyes.

“She talked to me,” she said voluntarily.  “She asked me what day of the week it was, like herself.”

Then suddenly, without any warning or any apparent reason, the tears formed in her eyes and rolled steadily down her cheeks.  She cried with scarcely any attempt at movement of her features, and without any attempt to stop herself, as if she did not know that she was crying.  In spite of the relief which her words gave him, Terence was dismayed by the sight; had everything given way?  Were there no limits to the power of this illness?  Would everything go down before it?  Helen had always seemed to him strong and determined, and now she was like a child.  He took her in his arms, and she clung to him like a child, crying softly and quietly upon his shoulder.  Then she roused herself and wiped her tears away; it was silly to behave like that, she said; very silly, she repeated, when there could be no doubt that Rachel was better.  She asked Terence to forgive her for her folly.  She stopped at the door and came back and kissed him without saying anything.