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inexplicable。 I do not know what she thought。 I felt that she was
possessed by some shapeless dread which robbed her of all self…control。
As a rule she was so calm； her agitation now was amazing。 Stroeve
looked at her for a while with puzzled consternation。
〃You are my wife； you are dearer to me than anyone in the world。 No
one shall come here without your entire consent。〃
She closed her eyes for a moment； and I thought she was going to faint。
I was a little impatient with her； I had not suspected that she was so
neurotic a woman。 Then I heard Stroeve's voice again。 It seemed to
break oddly on the silence。
〃Haven't you been in bitter distress once when a helping hand was held
out to you？ You know how much it means。 Couldn't you like to do
someone a good turn when you have the chance？〃
The words were ordinary enough； and to my mind there was in them
something so hortatory that I almost smiled。 I was astonished at the
effect they had on Blanche Stroeve。 She started a little； and gave her
husband a long look。 His eyes were fixed on the ground。 I did not know
why he seemed embarrassed。 A faint colour came into her cheeks； and
then her face became white more than white； ghastly； you felt that the
blood had shrunk away from the whole surface of her body； and even her
hands were pale。 A shiver passed through her。 The silence of the studio
seemed to gather body； so that it became an almost palpable presence。 I
was bewildered。
〃Bring Strickland here； Dirk。 I'll do my best for him。〃
〃My precious；〃 he smiled。
He wanted to take her in his arms； but she avoided him。
〃Don't be affectionate before strangers； Dirk；〃 she said。 〃It makes me
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feel such a fool。〃
Her manner was quite normal again； and no one could have told that
so shortly before she had been shaken by such a great emotion。
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Chapter XXVI
Next day we moved Strickland。 It needed a good deal of firmness
and still more patience to induce him to come； but he was really too ill to
offer any effective resistance to Stroeve's entreaties and to my
determination。 We dressed him； while he feebly cursed us； got him
downstairs； into a cab； and eventually to Stroeve's studio。 He was so
exhausted by the time we arrived that he allowed us to put him to bed
without a word。 He was ill for six weeks。 At one time it looked as though
he could not live more than a few hours； and I am convinced that it was
only through the Dutchman's doggedness that he pulled through。 I have
never known a more difficult patient。 It was not that he was exacting and
querulous； on the contrary； he never complained； he asked for nothing； he
was perfectly silent； but he seemed to resent the care that was taken of him；
he received all inquiries about his feelings or his needs with a jibe； a sneer；
or an oath。 I found him detestable； and as soon as he was out of danger I
had no hesitation in telling him so。
〃Go to hell；〃 he answered briefly。
Dirk Stroeve； giving up his work entirely； nursed Strickland with
tenderness and sympathy。 He was dexterous to make him comfortable；
and he exercised a cunning of which I should never have thought him
capable to induce him to take the medicines prescribed by the doctor。
Nothing was too much trouble for him。 Though his means were adequate
to the needs of himself and his wife； he certainly had no money to waste；
but now he was wantonly extravagant in the purchase of delicacies； out of
season and dear； which might tempt Strickland's capricious appetite。 I
shall never forget the tactful patience with which he persuaded him to take
nourishment。 He was never put out by Strickland's rudeness； if it was
merely sullen； he appeared not to notice it； if it was aggressive； he only
chuckled。 When Strickland； recovering somewhat； was in a good
humour and amused himself by laughing at him； he deliberately did absurd
things to excite his ridicule。 Then he would give me little happy glances；
so that I might notice in how much better form the patient was。 Stroeve
was sublime。
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But it was Blanche who most surprised me。 She proved herself not
only a capable； but a devoted nurse。 There was nothing in her to remind
you that she had so vehemently struggled against her husband's wish to
bring Strickland to the studio。 She insisted on doing her share of the
offices needful to the sick。 She arranged his bed so that it was possible to
change the sheet without disturbing him。 She washed him。 When I
remarked on her competence； she told me with that pleasant little smile of
hers that for a while she had worked in a hospital。 She gave no sign that
she hated Strickland so desperately。 She did not speak to him much； but
she was quick to forestall his wants。 For a fortnight it was necessary that
someone should stay with him all night； and she took turns at watching
with her husband。 I wondered what she thought during the long darkness
as she sat by the bedside。 Strickland was a weird figure as he lay there；
thinner than ever； with his ragged red beard and his eyes staring feverishly
into vacancy； his illness seemed to have made them larger； and they had an
unnatural brightness。
〃Does he ever talk to you in the night？〃 I asked her once。
〃Never。〃
〃Do you dislike him as much as you did？〃
〃More； if anything。〃
She looked at me with her calm gray eyes。 Her expression was so
placid； it was hard to believe that she was capable of the violent emotion I
had witnessed。
〃Has he ever thanked you for what you do for him？〃
〃No；〃 she smiled。
〃He's inhuman。〃
〃He's abominable。〃
Stroeve was； of course； delighted with her。 He could not do enough
to show his gratitude for the whole…hearted devotion with which she had
accepted the burden he laid on her。 But he was a little puzzled by the
behaviour of Blanche and Strickland towards one another。
〃Do you know； I've seen them sit there for hours together without
saying a word？〃
On one occasion； when Strickland was so much better that in a day or
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two he was to get up； I sat with them in the studio。 Dirk and I were talking。
Mrs。 Stroeve sewed； and I thought I recognised the shirt she was mending
as Strickland's。 He lay on his back； he did not speak。 Once I saw that
his eyes were fixed on Blanche Stroeve； and there was in them a curious
irony。 Feeling their gaze； she raised her own； and for a moment they stared
at one another。 I could not quite understand her expression。 Her eyes
had in them a strange perplexity； and perhaps but why？ alarm。 In a
moment Strickland looked away and idly surveyed the ceiling； but she
continued to stare at him； and now her look was quite inexplicable。
In a few days Strickland began to get up。 He was nothing but skin
and bone。 His clothes hung upon him like rags on a scarecrow。 With
his untidy beard and long hair； his features； always a little larger than life；
now emphasised by illness； he had an extraordinary aspect； but it was so
odd that it was not quite ugly。 There was something monumental in his
ungainliness。 I do not know how to express precisely the impression he
made upon me。 It was not exactly spirituality that was obvious； though
the screen of the flesh seemed almost transparent； because there was in his
face an outrageous sensuality； but； though it sounds nonsense； it s