"_That_ is not the dreadful part in coming home." "What _is_ dreadful, then ?" she asked, very low.
Lane felt a great heave of his breast--the irrepressible reaction of a profound and terrible emotion, always held in abeyance until now.

And a fierce pang, that was physical as well as emotional, tore through him.

His throat constricted and ached to a familiar sensation--the welling up of blood from his lungs.

The handkerchief he put to his lips came away stained red.

Helen saw it, and with dilated eyes, moved instinctively as if to touch him, hold him in her pity.
"Never mind, Helen," he said, huskily.