She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Melusine flew after him, the sword held out before her and pointing directly at his retreating back. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. ’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all. Love … to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then to add to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was a thief! For himself he did not care; God could continue to grind and pulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had already wrought upon Ruth was unthinkable.
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