On the first day he dressed for dinner-his valet had looked at him in amazement and then at her in inquiry when he demanded it-and came down to the dining room with her. He even ate. Not a great deal, it was true, but then since their wedding it had seemed to her that he existed on air. He had eaten no solid food.

"I have to eat," he told her with a smile, tackling the fish course. "I just looked at myself in the looking glass, Adèle, and I am nothing but skin and bones. I do not know how you can bear to look at me."

She would have wept except that there was a twinkle in his eye. "You are John," she said. "I could look at you every moment for the rest of my life and not grow tired of doing so."

He chuckled-and her heart turned over with joy at the sound. "And I am so weak," he said, "that I fear I made a dent in both the banister and your shoulder coming downstairs."

They had taken the stairs one at a time, with a long pause on each one. The butler had watched anxiously and incredulously from the foot-John's valet had carried him upstairs on their arrival.

On the second day he insisted on taking each meal in the dining room, even breakfast. And he forced himself to eat. She could tell that it was an effort and part of her wondered if it was worth torturing himself when… But there was the other part of her that hoped and did more than just hope. There was a part of her that knew.

He would not go back to bed except for one hour in the afternoon-he had her promise to wake him after an hour, provided she was awake to do it. He insisted that she lie down with him, and he held her hand, twisting her sapphire ring, until he drifted off to sleep.