She stood up, feeling stiff and bruised, her back aching, her head swimming, all her desiring ebbing as the moon waned.  Already the glimmer of dawn paled the moonshine.  She could hear the crowing of the cocks, the occasional rumble of a cart, the indescribable murmur that betokens an awakening city.  The night had gone at last and the daylight had come and she had worn herself out and conquered.  She thought this without joy; it was her fate not her heart.  Nature itself had come to her rescue, the very Nature she had resisted and denied.

She struck a light and looked into the glass, curious to know if she were the same still.  Dark circles surrounded her eyes, her nose was pinched, her cheeks wan, on her forehead between the brows were distinct wrinkles, from the corners of the mouth were chiselled deeply the lines of pain.  She was years older.  Could it be possible that only five hours ago she had flung herself into a lover’s arm by the moonlit water, a passionate girl, in womanhood’s first bloom?  She had cast those days behind her for ever, she thought; she would serve the Cause alone, henceforth, while she lived.  Rest, eternal rest, must come at last; she could only hope that it would come soon.  At least, if she lived without joy, she would die without self-reproach.

Exhausted, she sank to sleep almost as her head touched the pillow.  And in her sleep she lived again that night at the Strattons with Ned and heard Geisner profess God and condemn her hatred of maternity.  “You close the gates of Life,” he said.  Taking her hand he led her to where a great gate stood, of iron, brass bound, and there behind it a great flood of little children pressed and struggled, dashing and crashing till the great gates shook and tottered.

“They will break the gates open,” she cried to him in anguish.

“Did you deem to alter the unalterable?” he asked.  And his voice was Ned’s voice and turning round she saw it was Ned who held her hand.  They stood by the harbour side again and she loved him.  Again her whole being melted into his as he kissed her.  Again they were alone in the Universe, conscious only of an ineffable joy.

* * * * *

“Time to get up, Nellie!” called Mrs. Phillips, who was knocking at the door.  Nellie’s working day began again.

CHAPTER VI.

UNEMPLOYED.

After ten minutes’ walking Ned reached a broad thoroughfare.  Hesitating for a moment, to get his bearings, he saw across the way one of the cheap restaurants of which “all meals sixpence” is the symbol and which one sees open until all sorts of hours.  The window was still lighted, so Ned, parched with thirst, entered to get a cup of coffee.  It was a clean-looking place, enough.  He saw on the wall the legend “Clean beds” as he gulped down his coffee thirstily from the saucer.

“Can you put me up to-night?” he asked, overpowered with a drowsiness that dulled even his thoughts about Nellie and unwilling to walk on to his hotel.