'Will you die to-night?' I asked, a little evilly.
'What do you mean?' she said, looking at me. The same expression was still on my face, nor did I change it.
'Will you die with me—to-night?' I said; 'I am ready to die with you; although, my dear, as the saying goes, I don't love you.'
'You are very wicked!' she said, her eyes rounding, 'That would be wrong.'
'No:' (shaking my head a little); 'only tired of it—only tired of it!'
Then I looked at her:
'And so,' I said, ' that would be wrong?'
I took down my hand from her shoulder and stretched out my arms backward and yawned.
'Be it so,' I said, ' That would be wrong!'
I lay awake by her in the dark for a little, thinking about my work, and whether I would go on with it, and whether I would go on with anything. By degrees, my thoughts grew to present occurrences, to to-night's; and then, without thinking whether she was asleep or not, I asked—her, I suppose:
'Why did you get up? '
'Because I wanted to see you.'
I fell into my thoughts again; till at last, 'Ah!' I said to myself, if I were but some some poor, striving, struggling devil in some country town, and she my brave little wife—some poor, striving, struggling devil of a man of letters, with hopes of some day forcing a callous English world to know him as its teacher, and she the brave little wife that believed in me! Ah, why have I not had to strive and struggle? Perhaps I should have become a great man some day, then. Life would have been self-sufficing for me. I have almost a mind—a mind to throw away all these disgust-bearing, despair-bearing golden grains, and go out and struggle and strive again. Surely, I was happier as a boy in London than …' But there was little good in talking in this way now, to-night.—I did not ask myself why. I left the question alone: and dozed; and fell asleep.
I was awakened by being kissed on the lips. I opened my eyes and looked at Rosy. She was a little
