For days and days, in such moods, he would stay within his cottage, never darkening the door or seeing other face than those of his own inmates.

Those days were terrible both to him and her.

He would sit there unwashed, with his unshorn face resting on his hand, with an old dressing-gown hanging loose about him, hardly tasting food, seldom speaking, striving to pray, but striving so frequently in vain.

And then he would rise from his chair, and, with a burst of frenzy, call upon his Creator to remove him from this misery.

In these moments she never deserted him.