She was
looking at the gorgeous Titian near him.
"Norman," she said, "the sun has turned those rubies into drops of
blood--- they looked almost terrible on the white throat. What a strange
picture! What a tragical face!"
Suddenly with outstretched arms she fell on her knees at his side.
"Oh, my darling, what has happened? What is the matter?"
She had been away from him only half an hour, yet it seemed to him ages
since he had watched her leave the gallery with a smile on her lips.
"What is it, my darling?" she cried again. "Dear Norman, you look as
though the shadow of death had passed over you. What is it?"
In another moment she had flung herself on his breast, clasped her arms
round his neck, and was kissing his pale changed face as she had never
done before.
"Norman, my darling husband, you are ill," she said--"ill, and you will
not tell me. That is why you sent me away."
He tried to unclasp her arms, but she clung the more closely to him.
"You shall not send me away. You wish to suffer in silence? Oh, my
darling, my husband, do you forget that I am your wife, for better, for
worse, in sickness and in health? You shall not suffer without my
knowledge.
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