gore and disembowel each other, out of a passionate devotion to those
individual shapes which they were so soon to lose. So men--tribe against
tribe, and country against country--glared across the valleys with their
ensanguined eyes; they could not see the moonlit wings, or feel the
embalming airs of brotherhood.'"

Slower and slower came his sentences, and as the last word died away he
was heard to be asleep, breathing through a tiny hole left beneath the
eave of his moustache. Hilary, who had waited for that moment, gently
put the manuscript on the desk, and beckoned to the girl. He did not ask
her to his study, but spoke to her in the hall.

"While Mr. Stone is like this he misses you. You will come, then, at
present, please, so long as Hughs is in prison. How do you like your
room?"

The little model answered simply: "Not very much."

"Why not?"

"It's lonely there. I shan't mind, now I'm coming here again."

"Only for the present," was all Hilary could find to say.

The little model's eyes were lowered.

"Mrs. Hughs' baby's to be buried to-morrow," she said suddenly.

"Where?"